LIBRARY 

UHW  ERS1TY  OF  CfvUFORNlA 
RIVERSIDE 


Near  to 

Nature's 

Heart 


New  York 
Dodd,  Mead  &  Company  < 


Copyright,  1876, 
By  DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1904, 
By  MRS.  E.  P.  ROE 


PREFACE 

THE  autumn  winds  are  again  blowing,  and  the  even- 
ings are  growing  longer.  At  the  time  when  the  fires  are 
kindled  once  more  upon  the  hearth,  I  send  this  story  out 
to  visit  those  whom  I  can  almost  hope  to  regard  as 
friends.  If  it  meets  the  same  kind  welcome  and  lenient 
treatment  which  my  previous  works  have  received,  I 
shall  have  more  than  sufficient  reason  to  be  satisfied.  If, 
in  addition  to  being  a  guest  at  the  fireside,  it  becomes  an 
incentive  to  the  patient  performance  of  duty  in  the  face 
of  all  temptation,  I  shall  be  profoundly  thankful.  I  am 
not  afraid  to  inform  the  reader  that  these  books  are 
written  with  the  honest,  earnest  purpose  of  helping  him 
to  do  right ;  and  success,  in  this  respect,  is  the  best  re- 
ward I  crave.  I  do  not  claim  for  these  books  the 
character  of  beautiful  works  of  art.  Many  things  may 
have  good  and  wholesome  uses  without  exciting  the 
world's  admiration.  A  man  who  cannot  model  a  per- 
fect statue  may  yet  erect  a  lamp-post,  and  place  thereon 
a  light  which  shall  save  many  a  wayfarer  from  stum- 
bling. 

It  is  with  much  diffidence  and  doubt  that  I  have 
ventured  to  construct  my  story  in  a  past  age,  fearing  lest 
I  should  give  a  modern  coloring  to  everything.  But, 
while  the  book  is  not  designed  to  teach  history,  I  have 
carefully  consulted  good  authorities  in  regard  to  those 
parts  which  are  historical. 

Captain  Molly  has  her  recognized  place  in  the  Revo- 
lution, but  my  leading  characters  are  entirely  imaginary. 
Still,  I  hope  the  reader  may  not  find  them  such  pale 


iv  PREFACE 

shadows  that  their  joys,  sorrows,  and  temptations  will 
appear  mere  sickly  fancies,  but  rather  the  reflex  of 
genuine  human  experiences.  They  have  become  so  real 
and  dear  to  me  that  I  part  with  them  very  reluctantly. 

Cornwatt-on-the-Hudson,  N.  K 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  CHILD  OF  NATURE ,  i 

II.  VERA  AND  HER  HOME 12 

III.  THE  ICONOCLASTS 27 

IV.  "  FOR  WORSE  " 34 

V.  WASHINGTON'S  SERMON 44 

VI.    "A  SCENE  AT  BLACK  SAM'S" 55 

VII.    NEW  YORK  UNDER  FIRE 61 

VIII.    LARRY  MEETS  His  FATE 68 

IX.    LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE 81 

X.  THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS    .    .   .   .113 

XL  THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    .   .128 

XII.    BEACON  FIRES 146 

XIII.  LIBERTY  PROCLAIMED  AMONG  THE  HIGHLANDS  156 

XIV.  ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON 167 

XV.    SAVILLE'S  NIGHT  RECONNOISSANCE 178 

XVI.  DARK  DAYS 185 

XVII.  "THE  WHITE  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS"   .    .198 

XVIII.  •«  THE  BLACK  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS  "   .    .  204 

XIX.  A  DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY 215 

XX.  GULA  HEARS  A  VERITABLE  VOICE 225 

XXI.  CAMP-FIRES  AND  SUBTLER  FLAMES 239 

XXII.  THE  STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS 254 

XXIII.  THE  WIFE'S  QUEST  AMONG  THE  DEAD    ....  266 

XXIV.  VERA'S  SEARCH  AMONG  THE  DEAD 269 

XXV.  THE  WOMAN  IN  VERA  AWAKES 277 

v 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVI.  VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME     ......       .       .287 

XXVII.    VERA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST 300 

XXVIII.    A  HASTY  MARRIAGE     ....       310 

XXIX.    SEEMING  SUCCESS 315 

XXX.    A  MASTER  MIND  AND  WILL ,  .  320 

XXXI.    THE  REVELATION 333 

XXXII.    GROPING  HER  WAY 341 

XXXIII.  STRONG  TEMPTATION 350 

XXXIV.  A  STRANGER'S  COUNSEL 356 

XXXV.    THE  PARTING 362 

XXXVI.    SEEKING  DEATH 370 

XXXVII.    SEEKING  LIFE 383 

XXXVIII.  A  MYSTERY  SOLVED— GREAT  CHANGES    .   .  398 

XXXIX.    EXPLANATIONS 421 

XL.    HUSBAND  AND  WIFE 435 

XLI.  WEDDED  WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING    .         443 


NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 


CHAPTER  I 

A  CHILD  OF  NATURE 

THE  granite  mountains  that  form  the  historical  High- 
lands of  the  Hudson  have  changed  but  little  during  the 
past  century.  On  the  I7th  of  June,  about  one  hundred 
years  ago,  a  day  inseparably  associated  in  American 
memory  with  Bunker  Hill,  and  the  practial  severance  of 
the  cable  of  love  and  loyalty  that  once  bound  the  colonies 
to  the  mother  country,  these  bold  hills  undoubtedly  ap- 
peared much  as  they  do  now.  In  the  swales  and  valleys, 
the  timber,  untouched  as  yet  by  the  woodman's  axe,  was 
heavier  than  the  third  or  fourth  growth  of  our  day.  But 
the  promontories  overhanging  the  river  had  then,  as  now, 
the  same  grand  and  rugged  outlines  of  rock  and  precipice. 
The  shrubbery,  and  dwarf  trees,  that  catch  and  maintain 
their  tenacious  hold  on  every  crevice  and  fissure,  softened 
but  little  the  frowning  aspect  of  the  heights,  that,  like 
grim  sentinels,  guard  the  river. 

But  nature  in  her  harshest  moods  can  scarcely  resist  the 
blandishments  of  June  ;  even  as  the  sternest  features  relax 
under  the  caresses  of  youth  and  beauty.  On  this  warm 
still  day  of  early  summer,  when  over  the  city  of  Boston 
the  wildest  storm  of  war  was  breaking,  the  spirit  of  peace 
seemed  supreme  even  in  that  rugged  gorge  into  which  the 
Hudson  passes  from  Newburgh  Bay,  and  a  luminous  haze 
softened  every  sharp  outline.  The  eastern  shore  was 
aglow  with  the  afternoon  sun,  like  a  glad  face  radiant 


2  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

with  smiles.  The  western  bank  with  its  deepening 
shadows  was  like  a  happy  face  passing  from  thought  into 
revery,  which,  if  not  sad,  is  at  least  tinged  with  melan- 
choly. 

From  most  points  of  observation  there  were  no  evi- 
dences of  other  life  than  that  distinctively  belonging  to 
the  wilderness.  If  the  pressure  of  population  has  brought 
so  few  inhabitants  in  our  time,  there  was  still  less  induce- 
ment then  to  settle  where  scarcely  a  foothold  could  be 
obtained  among  the  crags.  Therefore  the  region  that  is 
now  rilling  up  with  those  who  prefer  beautiful  scenery  to 
the  richest  lowlands,  was  one  of  the  wildest  solitudes  on 
the  continent,  though  amidst  rapidly  advancing  civiliza- 
tion, north  as  well  as  south  of  the  mountains. 

While  at  that  time  the  river  was  one  of  the  chief  high- 
ways of  the  people,  the  means  of  communication  between 
the  seaboard  and  a  vast  interior,  so  that  the  batteaux  of 
voyagers  and  passing  sails  were  common  enough,  still  the 
precipitous  shores  offered  slight  inducement  to  land,  and 
the  skippers  of  the  little  craft  were  glad  to  pass  hastily 
through  this  forbidding  region  of  sudden  flaws  and  violent 
tides,  to  the  broad  expanse  of  Tappan  Zee,  where  the 
twinkle  of  home  lights  and  the  curling  smoke  from  farm- 
house and  hamlet  in  the  distance  reminded  them  that 
they  were  near  their  own  kind. 

But  there  was  neither  boat  nor  sail  in  sight  on  the 
memorable  afternoon  upon  which  my  story  opens,  not  a 
trace  of  the  human  life  that  now  pulsates  through  this 
great  artery  of  the  land,  save  a  small  sailboat  drifting 
slowly  under  the  shadow  of  Cro' nest.  The  faint  breeze 
from  the  west  died  away  as  the  sun  declined,  and  the 
occupant  had  dropped  the  sail  that  only  flapped  idly 
against  the  mast.  The  tide  was  still  setting  up  in  the 
centre  of  the  river,  but  had  turned  close  in-shore.  There- 
fore, the  young  man,  who  was  the  sole  occupant  of  the 
boat,  reclined  languidly  in  the  stern,  with  his  hand  on  the 


A  CHILD  OF  NATURE  3 

tiller,  and  drifted  s'owly  with  the  current  around  the 
mimic  capes  and  along  the  slight  indentations  of  the  shore, 
often  so  close  that  he  could  leap  upon  a  jutting  rock. 

Though  the  almost  motionless  vessel  and  the  seemingly 
listless  occupant  were  in  keeping  with  the  sultry  hour, 
during  which  nature  appeared  in  a  dreamy  revery,  still 
their  presence  was  the  result  of  war.  A  nearer  view  of 
the  young  man  who  was  mechanically  steering,  proved 
that  his  languid  attitude  was  calculated  to  mislead.  A 
frown  lowered  upon  his  wide  brow,  and  his  large,  dark 
eyes  were  full  of  trouble — now  emitting  gleams  of  anger, 
and  again  moist  in  their  sympathy  with  thoughts  that  must 
have  been  very  sad  or  very  bitter.  His  full,  flexible 
mouth  was  at  times  tremulous  with  feeling,  but  often  so 
firmly  compressed  as  to  express  not  so  much  resolve,  as 
desperation.  In  contrast  to  nature's  peace,  there  was 
evidently  the  severest  conflict  in  this  man's  soul.  In  his 
deep  preoccupation,  he  would  sometimes  permit  his  boat 
to  drift  almost  ashore  ;  then  his  impatient  and  powerful 
grasp  upon  the  tiller  bespoke  a  fiery  spirit,  and  a  strong, 
prompt  hand  to  do  its  behests. 

But,  by  the  time  he  had  crossed  the  flats,  south  of 
"  Cro'nest,"  he  seemed  inclined  to  escape  from  his 
painful  revery,  and  take  some  interest  in  surrounding 
scenes.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  appeared  vexed  at 
his  slow  progress.  He  took  the  oars,  pulled  a  few  strokes, 
then  cast  them  down  again,  muttering, 

"  After  all,  what  do  a  few  hours  signify?  Besides,  I 
am  infinitely  happier  and  better  off  here  than  in  New 
York  ;  "  and  he  threw  himself  back  again  in  his  old  listless 
attitude. 

His  boat  Was  now  gliding  around  that  remarkable 
projection  of  land  that  has  since  gained  a  world-wide 
celebrity  under  the  name  of  West  Point.  When  a  little 
beyond  .what  is  now  known  as  the  old  Steamboat  Landing, 
he  thought  he  heard  a  woman's  voice.  He  listened 


4  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

intently,  and  a  snatch  of  wild  melody,  clear  and  sweet, 
floated  to  him  through  the  still  air.  He  was  much  sur- 
prised, for  he  expected  to  find  no  one  in  that  solitude, 
much  less  a  woman  with  a  voice  as  sweet  as  that  of  a 
brown-thrush  that  was  giving  an  occasional  prelude  to  its 
evening  song  in  a  shady  nook  of  the  mountains. 

He  at  once  proposed  to  solve  the  mystery,  and  so  divert 
his  thoughts  from  a  subject  that  was  evidently  torture  to 
dwell  upon  ;  and  keeping  his  boat  close  to  the  land,  that 
it  might  be  hidden,  and  that  he  could  spring  ashore  the 
moment  he  wished,  he  pursued  his  way  with  a  pleasant 
change  in  a  face  naturally  frank  and  prepossessing. 

As  he  approached  the  extreme  point  where  now  the 
lighthouse  stands,  the  notes  became  clear  and  distinct. 
But  he  could  distinguish  neither  air  nor  words.  Indeed, 
at  his  distance,  the  melody  seemed  improvised,  capricious, 
the  utterances  of  a  voice  peculiarly  sweet  but  untrained. 

It  soon  became  evident  that  the  songstress  was  on  the 
south  side  of  the  rocky  point,  on  which  grew  clumps  of 
low  cedar.  Standing  with  an  oar  in  the  bow  of  his  boat, 
and  causing  it  to  touch  the  shore  so  gently  that  the  keel 
did  not  even  grate  upon  the  rock,  he  sprang  lightly  to 
land,  and  secured  his  vessel.  He  next  stole  crouchingly 
up  behind  a  low,  wide-spreading  cedar,  from  whence  he 
could  see  over  the  ridge. 

It  was  a  strange  and  unexpected  vision  that  greeted 
him.  He  naturally  supposed  that  some  woodman's  or 
farmer's  daughter  had  come  down  to  the  bank,  or  that  a 
party  of  pleasure  had  stopped  there  for  a  time.  But  he 
saw  a  creature  whom  he  could  in  no  way  account  for. 

Reclining  with  her  back  towards  him  on  a  little  grassy 
plot  just  above  a  rock  that  shelved  down  to  the  water, 
was  a  young  girl  dressed  in  harmony  with  her  sylvan 
surroundings.  Her  attire  was  as  simple  as  it  was  strange, 
consisting  of  an  embroidered  tunic  of  finely  dressed  fawn- 
skin,  reaching  a  little  below  the  knee,  and  ending  in  a 


A  CHILD  OF  NATURE  5 

blue  fringe.  Some  lighter  fabric  was  worn  under  it  and 
encased  the  arms.  The  shapely  neck  and  throat  were 
bare,  though  almost  hidden  by  a  wealth  of  wavy,  golden 
tresses  that  flowed  down  her  shoulders.  Her  hat  ap- 
peared to  have  been  constructed  out  of  the  skin  of  the 
snowy  heron,  with  its  beak  and  plumage  preserved  intact, 
and  dressed  into  the  jauntiest  style.  Leggings  of  strong 
buckskin,  that  formed  a  protection  against  the  briars  and 
roughness  of  the  forest,  were  clasped  around-a  slender 
ankle,  and  embroidered  moccasins  completed  an  attire 
that  was  not  in  the  style  of  the  girl  of  the  period  even  a 
century  ago.  She  might  have  passed  for  an  Indian 
maiden,  were  it  not  for  the  snowy  whiteness  of  her  neck, 
where  the  sun  had  not  browned  it,  and  for  her  good  pro- 
nunciation of  English.  In  her  little  brown  hand  she  held 
a  fishing-rod,  but  she  had  ceased  to  watch  her  floral  float, 
which  was  the  bud  of  a  water-lily  tied  to  the  line.  Indeed, 
the  end  of  her  pole  dipped  idly  in  the  water,  while  she, 
forgetful  of  the  sport  or  toil,  whichever  it  might  be,  sang 
her  passing  feelings  and  fancies  as  unaffectedly  as  the 
birds  on  the  hills  around,  that  now  were  growing  tuneful 
after  the  heat  of  the  day. 

Thus  far,  our  hero,  whom  we  may  as  well  introduce  at 
onceasTheron  Saville,  had  been  able  to  distinguish  only 
disjointed  words,  that  had  no  seeming  connection  ;  mere 
musical  sparkles,  rising  from  the  depths  of  a  glad,  in- 
nocent heart.  But  imagine  his  surprise  when  she  com- 
menced singing  to  an  air  that  he  had  often  heard  in 
England  : 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  oxlips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows." 

She  broke  off  suddenly,  sprang  up,  and  commenced 
winding  the  line  upon  her  pole.  Then  Saville  saw  that, 
though  very  young  seemingly,  she  was  taller  and  more 
fully  developed  than  he  had  supposed.  At  first  glance 


6  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

she  had  appeared  to  be  little  more  than  a  child,  but  as 
she  stood  erect,  he  saw  that  she  was  somewhat  above 
medium  height  and  straight  as  an  arrow. 

He  was  most  eager  to  see  her  face,  thinking  that  it 
might  help  to  solve  the  mystery,  but  she  perversely  kept 
it  from  him  as  she  leisurely  wound  up  her  line,  in  the 
meantime  chattering  to  herself  in  a  voice  so  flexible  and 
natural  that  it  seemed  to  mirror  every  passing  thought. 
Now,  in  mimic  anger  she  cried,  "  Out  upon  you,  fishes, 
great  and  small — whales,  leviathans,  and  minnows ! 
•  Canst  thou  draw  out  leviathan  with  a  hook  ?  Canst 
thou  put  a  hook  into  his  nose  ?  '  No,  I  can't  ;  nor  in  the 
nose  of  a  single  perch,  white  or  yellow.  Did  I  not  whisper 
when  I  first  came,  '  Come  home  with  me  to  supper  ? ' 
Scaly,  unmannerly  knaves,  out  upon  you  ;  I'll  none  of 
you." 

Then,  with  instant  change  to  comic  pathos,  she  con- 
tinued, "  '  Alas,  'tis  true,  'tis  pity  ;  and  pity  'tis,  'tis  true.' 
I'll  none  of  you — when  I  wanted  a  dozen." 

Suddenly,  with  a  motion  as  quick  as  a  bird  on  its  spray, 
she  turned,  and  appeared  to  look  directly  at  Saville.  He 
was  so  startled  that  he  almost  discovered  himself,  but 
was  reassured  by  noticing  that  she  had  not  seen  him,  but 
was  looking  over  his  sheltering  cedar  at  something  be- 
yond, with  a  pouting  vexation,  that  he  learned  a  mo- 
ment later  was  only  assumed.  He  now  saw  her  features, 
but  while  they  awakened  a  thrill  of  admiration,  they  gave 
no  clue  to  her  mystery.  The  hue  of  perfect  health  glowed 
upon  her  oval  face,  while  her  eyes  were  like  violets  of 
darkest  blue.  The  mouth  was  full,  yet  firm,  and  unlike 
Saville's,  which  was  chiefly  expressive  of  sensibility  and 
suggested  an  emotional  nature. 

Altogether,  she  seemed  a  creature  that  might  haunt  a 
painter's  or  a  poet's  fancy,  but  have  no  right  or  real  exist- 
ence in  this  matter-of-fact  world.  Saville  could  not  ac- 
count for  her,  and  still  his  wonder  grew  when  she  ex- 


A  CHILD  OF  NATURE  7 

claimed  in  tones  as  mellow  as  the  notes  of  the  bird  she 
addressed  : 

"  What  are  you  saying  there,  saucy  robin  ?  You're  so 
proud  of  your  scarlet  waistcoat,  you're  always  putting 
yourself  forward.  '  The  sun's  behind  the  mountain,  and 
it's  time  for  evening  songs,'  you  say.  Well,  I  can  see 
that  as  well  as  you.  Go  sing  to  your  little  brown  wife  on 
her  nest,  and  cease  your  '  mops  and  mowes'  at  me. 

" '  I  can  sing  in  sunshine, 
I  can  sing  in  shadow, 
In  the  darkest  forest  glen, 
O'er  the  grassy  meadow, 
At  night,  by  day,  'tis  all  the  same, 
Song  is  praise  to  his  loved  name,' " 

Then  she  lifted  her  face  and  eyes  heavenward,  as  if 
from  an  impulse  of  grateful  devotion.  Her  white  throat 
grew  full,  as  in  slower  measure,  and  with  a  voice  that 
seemed  to  fill  the  balmy  June  evening  with  enchantment, 
she  sang  as  a  hymn  those  exquisite  words  from  Isaiah  : 

"  For  ye  shall  go  out  with  joy, 
And  be  led  forth  with  peace ; 
The  mountains  and  the  hills 
Shall  break  forth  before  you  into  singing, 
And  all  the  trees  of  the  field  shall  clap  their  hands." 

Saville  was  in  a  maze  of  bewilderment  and  delight. 
Was  this  a  creature  of  earth  or  heaven  ?  A  fairy  or  an 
ideal  Indian  maiden,  the  perfect  flower  of  sylvan  life  ? 
All  his  classic  lore  flashed  upon  him.  Oreads  and  dryads, 
nymphs  of  the  mountain  and  forest  tripped  through  his 
brain  to  no  purpose.  She  seemed  to  him  as  much  a 
being  of  the  imagination  as  any  of  them,  but  was  so 
tantalizingly  near  and  real,  that  he  could  see  the  blood 
come  and  go  in  her  face,  the  rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom, 
the  changing  light  of  her  eyes  ;  and  yet  he  feared  almost 


8  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

to  breathe  lest  she  should  vanish.  Morever,  a  pure 
English  accent,  and  familiarity  with  Shakespeare  and  the 
Bible,  savored  not  of  tlie  wigwam  nor  of  Greek  mythology. 
He  resolved  to  watch  her  till  she  seemed  about  to  de- 
part, and  then  seek  to  intercept  her,  and  by  questions 
solve  the  enigma. 

The  girl  stood  quietly  for  a  moment  as  the  last  sweet 
notes  of  her  voice  were  repeating  themselves  in  faint  echoes 
from  the  hillsides,  and  then  in  a  low  tone  murmured, 

"  How  can  I  be  lonely  when  God  makes  all  his  crea- 
tures my  playmates?  " 

In  the  quick  transition  that  seemed  one  of  her  character- 
istics, she  soon  snatched  up  her  fishing-rod,  exclaiming  : 

••  Old  Will  Shakespeare,  I  know  more  than  you."  And 
she  sang  again, 

"  '  I  know  a  bank  '  where  the  strawberry  '  blows,' 
Where  the  red  ripe  strawberry  even  now  «  grows/ 
'  Quite  over-canopied  with  luscious  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk  roses  and  with  eglantine  ;  ' 
These  I  can  gather  long  before  the  night, 
And  carry  home  to  mother  '  with  dances  and  delight ' — 

with  dances  and  delight" — and  as  she  repeated  this  re- 
frain, she  lifted  her  slight  pole  like  a  wand  over  her  head, 
and  commenced  tripping  on  the  little  grassy  plot  as  strange 
and  fantastic  a  measure  as  ever  wearied  Titania,  the  fairy 
queen. 

There  was  another  low  cedar  nearer  to  her,  and  Saville 
determined  to  reach  this,  if  possible.  He  did  so,  unper- 
ceived,  and  for  a  moment  gazed  with  increasing  wonder 
on  her  strange  beauty.  Though  she  seemed  a  perfect 
child  of  nature,  as  unconventional  as  a  fawn  in  its  gam- 
bols, there  was  not  a  trace  of  coarseness  or  vulgarity  in 
feature  or  action. 

Suddenly  the  girl  ceased  her  improvised  dance,  and 
looked  around  as  with  a  vague  consciousness  of  alarm. 


A  CHILD  OF  NATURE  9 

It  was  evident  she  had  not  seen  nor  heard  anything  dis- 
tinctly, but  as  if  possessing  an  instinct  akin  to  that  of 
other  wild  creatures  of  the  forest,  she  felt  a  danger  she 
could  not  see.  Or,  perhaps,  it  was  the  influence  of  the 
same  mysterious  power  which  enables  us  in  a  crowded 
hall  to  fix  our  eyes  and  thoughts  on  one  far  removed,  and, 
by  something  concerning  which  we  hide  our  ignorance  by 
the  term  "  magnetism,"  draw  their  eyes  and  thoughts  to 
ourselves. 

From  her  quivering  nostrils  and  dilating  eyes  Saville 
saw  that  his  nymph  of  the  mountain,  wood,  or  water — the 
embodied  enigma  that  he  was  now  most  curious  to  solve — 
was  on  the  eve  of  flight ;  therefore,  cap  in  hand,  and  with 
the  suave  grace  of  one  familiar  with  the  salons  of  Paris, 
he  stepped  forth  from  his  concealment. 

But,  seemingly,  his  politeness  was  as  utterly  lost  on  the 
maiden  as  it  would  have  been  on  a  wild  fawn,  or  the 
heron  whose  plumage  mingled  with  her  flowing  hair  ;  for 
like  an  arrow  she  darted  by  him  up  the  steep  ascent,  with 
a  motion  so  swift,  so  seemingly  instantaneous,  that  he  stood 
gazing  after  her  as  helplessly  as  if  a  bird  had  taken  wing. 

It  was  not  until  she  had  gained  a  crag  far  above  him, 
and  there  paused  a  moment,  as  if  her  curiosity  mastered 
her  fears,  that  he  recovered  himself,  and  cursed  his  stupid 
slowness. 

But,  when  he  again  advanced  towards  her  and  essayed 
to  speak,  she  sprang  from  her  perch,  and  was  lost  in  the 
thick  copse-wood  of  the  bank.  Only  her  light  hazel 
fishing-rod,  and  the  line  with  the  water  lily  bud,  remained 
to  prove  that  the  whole  scene  was  not  an  illusion,  a  piece 
of  witchery  that  comported  well  with  the  hour  and  the 
romantic  region. 

Correctly  imagining  that  though  invisible  she  might  be 
watching  him,  he  took  the  flower  and  put  it  in  his  button- 
hole, leaving  the  pole  on  the  bank  ;  then,  taking  off  his 
hat,  he  again  bowed  in  the  direction  whither  she  had  fled. 


10  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

with  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  which  pantomime  he  hoped 
contained  enough  simplicity  and  nature  to  serve  in  place 
of  the  words  she  would  not  stay  to  hear. 

He  then  pushed  his  boat  from  the  shore  (for  he  no 
more  thought  of  following  her  than  he  would  a  zephyr  that 
had  gone  fluttering  through  the  leaves),  and  permitted  it 
to  drift  down  with  the  tide  as  before. 

With  the  faint  hope  of  inducing  her  to  appear  again,  he 
took  up  a  flute,  of  which  he  had  become  quite  a  master, 
and  which  he  usually  carried  with  him  on  his  solitary  ex- 
peditions, and  commenced  playing  the  air  to  which  she 
had  sung  the  words, 

"  I  know  a  bank " 

He  was  rewarded  by  seeing  first  the  plumage  of  the 
snowy  heron,  then  the  graceful  outline  of  the  maiden's 
form  on  a  projecting  rock  where  now  frowns  Battery 
Knox.  He  again  doffed  his  hat,  and  turned  the  prow  of 
his  boat  in-shore,  at  which  she  vanished. 

Believing  now  that  she  was  too  shy  to  be  won  as  an  ac- 
quaintance, or  resolute  in  her  purpose  to  shun  a  stranger, 
he  pursued  his  journey  with  many  wondering  surmises. 
But  partly  to  please  himself,  and  with  some  hope  of  pleas- 
ing her,  he  made  the  quiet  June  evening  so  resonant  with 
music  that  even  the  birds  seemed  to  pause  and  listen  to 
the  unwonted  strains. 

Thus  he  kept  the  shores  echoing  and  reechoing  till  his 
boat  was  gliding  under  a  precipitous  bluff,  where  it  would 
be  impossible  to  land.  Here  a  light  northern  breeze  came 
fluttering  down  the  river  with  its  innumerable  retinue  of 
ripples,  and  Saville  threw  down  the  flute  and  hoisted  his 
sail.  As  he  glided  out  from  the  shadow  of  the  bluff  to 
the  centre  of  the  river,  the  same  weird  and  beautiful  voice 
resounded  from  the  rocks  above  him,  with  a  sweetness 
and  fulness  that  filled  the  whole  region  and  hour  with 
enchantment, 


A  CHILD  OF  NATURE  11 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

Then  he  saw  the  plumage  of  the  snowy  heron  waving 
him  a  farewell,  and  distinguished  the  half  concealed  form 
of  the  maiden.  The  northern  gale  tossed  her  uncon fined 
hair  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  vision  vanished. 

The  wind  freshened,  and  soon  the  water  was  foaming 
about  the  bow  of  his  boat.  Taking  up  his  flute,  he  gave 
as  a  responsive  farewell  the  simple  melody  which  had  be- 
come a  kind  of  signal  between  them,  the  one  link  of 
mutual  knowledge,  the  gossamer  thread  that  might  draw 
their  lives  closer  together. 

The  maiden,  who  no  longer  needed  the  sheltering 
foliage,  but  was  concealed  by  the  deepening  twilight, 
listened  till  the  faintest  echoes  had  died  away  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  then,  quite  as  bewildered  and  full  of  wonder- 
ment as  the  hero  of  our  story,  slowly  retraced  her  steps 
towards  West  Point. 

Saville  gazed  lingeringly  and  regretfully  back  upon  the 
landscape  that  grew  more  picturesque  every  moment  in 
the  uncertain  light,  and  felt  that  he  was  leaving  a  fairy 
land  for  one  of  stern  and  bitter  realities. 


CHAPTER  II 

VERA  AND  HER  HOME 

WITH  slow  and  thoughtful  steps,  the  young  girl  pur- 
sued her  way,  rinding  a  path  where,  to  another,  there 
would  have  been  only  a  tangled  forest,  growing  among 
steep  ridges  and  jagged  rocks.  But  the  freedom  and 
ease  with  which  she  picked  her  way  with  almost  noiseless 
tread,  might  have  deepened  the  impression  that  in  some 
occult  manner  she  was  akin  to  the  wilderness  in  which 
she  seemed  so  much  at  home.  Having  crossed  a  rocky 
hill,  she  entered  a  grassy  foot-path,  and  soon  approached 
a  dwelling  whence  gleamed  a  faint  light.  Though  her 
steps  apparently  gave  forth  no  sound,  they  were  heard, 
for  suddenly  innumerable  echoes  filled  the  silent  valley, 
and  two  dogs,  that  must  have  been  large  and  fierce,  judg- 
ing from  their  deep  baying,  came  bounding  towards  her. 
With  a  low  laugh  she  said : 

"  Here's  'much  ado  about  nothing.'  There,  there, 
Tiger  and  Bull;  two  precious  fools  you  have  made  of 
yourselves,  not  to  know  me." 

The  great  dogs  fawned  at  her  feet  and  licked  her 
hands,  and,  by  the  humblest  canine  apologies,  sought  for- 
giveness for  their  rude  greeting. 

The  light  from  within  fell  upon  the  somewhat  haggard 
and  startled  face  of  a  man  who  stood  upon  the  door-step 
and  peered  out  into  the  darkness. 

"  It's  only  I,  father  ;  "  and  in  a  moment  the  girl  was  at 
his  side. 

The  man  responded  but  slightly  to  her  caress,  and, 


VEEA  AND  HER  HOME  13 

entering  the  one  large  living-room  of  the  cottage,  sat 
down,  without  a  word,  in  its  most  shadowy  corner,  seem- 
ingly finding  something  congenial  in  its  gloom. 

"  What  has  kept  you  so  late,  Vera?  "  asked  a  woman 
who  was  taking  from  a  rude  cupboard  the  slender  ma- 
terials of  the  evening  meal. 

"  I  was  watching  a  queer  little  sailboat,  mother." 

"Sailboat,  sailboat;  has  it  landed  near  us?"  asked 
the  man,  starting  up. 

"No,  father.  I  watched  till  it  disappeared  down  the 
river,"  said  the  girl,  soothingly. 

"That's  a  good  child.  Still  it  does  not  signify  ;  no  one 
could  have  any  business  with  me." 

But  the  slight  tremor  of  excitement  in  the  girl's  tone 
caused  the  mother  to  give  her  a  quick,  searching  glance, 
and  she  saw  that  something  unusual  had  occurred. 

Vera  looked  smilingly  and  significantly  into  the  pale, 
anxious  face  turned  to  her,  and  her  glance  said,  "  I  will 
tell  you  all  by  and  by." 

The  woman  continued  her  tasks,  though  in  a  manner 
so  feeble  as  to  indicate  that  the  burden  of  life  was  grow- 
ing too  heavy  to  be  borne  much  longer,  while  Vera  as- 
sisted her  with  the  quickness  of  youth  and  the  deftness  of 
experience. 

From  a  little  "  lean-to  "  against  the  side  of  the  house, 
used  as  a  kitchen,  an  aged  negress  now  appeared.  A 
scarlet  handkerchief  formed  a  sort  of  turban  above  her 
wrinkled  visage.  She  was  tall,  but  bent  with  years,  and 
there  was  a  trace  of  weird  dignity  in  her  bearing,  that  was 
scarcely  in  keeping  with  her  menial  position. 

"  Did  de  young  missis  bring  anyting?"  she  asked. 

"  Nothing,  Gula,"  said  the  young  girl,  lightly.  "  The 
unmannerly  fish  laughed  me  to  scorn.  Though  I  tempted 
them  above  with  a  lily  bud,  and  beneath  with  a  wriggling 
angle-worm,  not  one  would  come  home  with  me.  They 
were  afraid  of  you,  Gula." 


14  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Den  dare's  nothin'  for  supper  but  milk  and  bread," 
muttered  the  old  woman. 

"  It  will  suffice  for  me.  To-morrow  I  will  be  up  with 
the  lark,  and  have  a  dish  of  strawberries  for  breakfast." 
And  she  hummed  to  herself : 

"  I  know  the  bank  whereon  they  grow  — 
A  thing  Will  Shakespeare  does  not  know." 

The  mother  looked  at  her  fondly,  but  her  smile  ended 
in  a  sigh.  With  her,  almost  everything  in  life  was  now 
ending  with  a  sigh. 

The  frugal  repast  being  ready,  the  father  was  sum- 
moned, but  before  he  would  leave  his  partial  conceal- 
ment, he  asked  Vera  to  close  the  window-shutters,  so  as 
to  preclude  the  possibility  of  any  one  looking  in  from  the 
outer  darkness.  The  man  seemed  haunted  by  some 
vague  fear  which  was  not  shared  by  the  rest  of  the  family, 
but  which,  in  his  case,  was  tacitly  recognized  and 
humored.  He  ate  his  supper  hurriedly,  and  then  retired 
again  to  his  dusky  corner,  where  he  sat  the  remainder  of 
the  evening,  silent,  save  when  spoken  to  by  his  wife  and 
daughter,  who  evidently  tried  to  retain  him  as  part  of  the 
family  circle,  though  he  morbidly  shrank  within  himself. 

The  mother  and  daughter  were  left  alone  at  the  table, 
at  which  they  sat  even  after  Gula  had  removed  to  the 
kitchen  the  slight  remnants  of  the  meal.  A  dip-candle 
burned  dimly  between  them,  and  lighted  up,  but  with 
deep  contrasts  of  shadow,  two  remarkable  faces — not 
such  as  one  would  expect  to  find  in  a  rude  log  cabin  of 
the  wilderness ;  for  the  uncertain  rays  revealed  the  fact, 
though  disguised  by  many  a  dainty  rural  device,  that  the 
walls  of  the  dwelling  were  of  rough-hewn  logs.  But  the 
homely  surroundings  only  brought  out  more  clearly  the 
unmistakable  refinement  of  the  faces  of  mother  and 
daughter,  now  turned  towards  each  other  in  a  subtle  • 
irlerchange  of  sympathy  that  scarcely  needed  words. 


VERA  AND  HER  HOME  15 

They  seemed  to  have  formed  the  habit  of  communicating 
with  each  other  by  significant  glances  and  little  signs 
apparent  to  no  one  save  themselves,  and  there  existed 
between  them  a  love  so  deep  and  absorbing  that  it  was 
ever  a  source  of  tranquil  pleasure  to  look  into  each  other's 
eyes.  This  silent  communion  was  rendered  necessary  in 
part,  because  there  was  much  of  which  they  could  not 
speak  in  the  presence  of  the  father  and  husband  in  his 
present  warped,  morbid  condition  of  mind.  To  her 
mother  Vera  embodied  her  name,,  and  was  truth  itself, 
revealing,  like  her  playmates  the  mountain  streams, 
everything  in  her  crystal  thoughts.  To  her  father  she 
was  equally  true,  but  was  so  through  a  system  of  loving 
disguises  and  concealments.  If  she  had  told  him  of  her 
adventure  of  the  afternoon  he  would  have  been  greatly 
excited,  and  sleep  were  banished  for  the  night. 

The  mother  saw  that  Vera  had  a  confidence  to  give, 
and  quietly  waited  until  they  should  be  alone  ;  and  gs 
she  looked  tenderly  upon  her  child,  her  pale,  spiritual 
face  might  have  realized  the  ideal  of  pure  motherly  love. 
As  such,  in  after  years,  Vera  remembered  it.  It  was  well 
that  she  should  look  long  and  fondly  upon  those  dear 
features,  for  in  their  thin  transparency  they  promised  soon 
to  become  only  a  memory. 

But  Vera  knew  nothing  of  death.  She  had  never  seen 
a  pallid,  rigid  human  face,  and  the  thought  that  the  dear 
face  before  her  could  ever  become  such,  was  too  dreadful 
to  have  even  entered  her  mind. 

The  mother,  with  a  secret  and  growing  uneasiness,  had 
been  conscious  of  her  failing  powers.  Her  usual  house- 
hold cares  became  daily  more  burdensome.  She  panted 
for  breath,  after  tasks  that  once  seemed  light.  Her  rest, 
instead  of  being  sweet  and  refreshing,  was  broken  through 
the  long  night  by  a  hacking  cough,  which  the  bland  air 
of  June  did  not  remove  as  she  had  fondly  hoped.  But, 
in  the  strange  delusion  of  her  disease,  she  ever  expected 


16  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

to  be  "better  in  a  few  days,"  and  she  never  had  the 
courage  to  blanch  the  joyous  face  of  Vera  with  the  vague 
fear  which  in  spite  of  her  hopes  sometimes  found  entrance 
to  her  mind.  The  malady  had  been  so  slow  and  in- 
sidious in  its  advances,  that  Vera  had  not  noticed  the 
daily  yet  almost  imperceptible  changes,  but  old  Gula 
sometimes  shook  her  head  ominously,  though  she  said 
nothing.  The  husband  was  too  deeply  shadowed  by  one 
oppressive  fear  to  have  thought  for  anything  else  ;  and 
so  the  poor  exile  (for  such  she  was)  unconsciously  to  her- 
self and  those  she  loved,  daily  drew  nearer  to  the  only 
home  where  the  heart  is  at  rest. 

Upon  a  rustic  shelf  above  Vera's  head  were  two  books 
that  originally  had  been  quite  handsomely  bound.  They 
were  the  products  of  a  time  when  things  were  made  to 
last ;  and  yet  such  had  been  their  vicissitudes  and  con- 
stant use  that  they  looked  old  and  worn.  They  were  the 
only  books  Vera  had  ever  seen.  They  had  been  the 
story-books  of  her  childhood,  and  long  before  she  could 
read  them,  her  mother  had  beguiled  her  by  the  hour  with 
their  marvelous  tales.  They  had  been  the  school-books 
in  which  she  had  conned  her  letters  ;  and,  following  her 
mother's  pointing  finger,  she  had  spelled  her  way  through 
them,  when  the  long  and  unpronounceable  words  were 
to  her  lisping  tongue  what  the  rugged  boulders  around 
their  home  were  to  her  little  feet.  She  had  often  stumbled 
over  both  ;  still  she  had  learned  to  love  the  mossy 
boulders  and  the  equally  formidable  words,  and  the  latter 
had  gradually  become  stepping-stones  to  her  thoughts. 
These  books  were  now  yearly  developing  for  her  deeper 
and  richer  meanings,  and  were  having  no  small  part  in 
the  formation  of  her  character.  The  gilt  letters  on  their 
backs  were  not  so  faded  and  worn  but  that  the  titles 
could  still  be  read — the  "  Plays  of  William  Shakespeare," 
and  "  Holy  Bible." 

The  former  had  been  given  to  Vera's  mother  in  other 


VERA  AND  HER  HOME  17 

and  happier  days,  and  in  another  land,  by  the  man,  now 
but  a  wreck  of  the  handsome,  spirited  youth,  who  then 
gave  glances  and  words  with  the  gift,  which  she  valued 
more  than  the  book.  She  had  given  him  the  Bible  in 
return,  and  he  formerly  had  read  it  somewhat  for  her 
sake,  though  seldom  for  its  own.  The  Bible  was  much 
the  smaller  and  plainer  volume,  and  suggested  that  the 
purse  of  the  donor  might  not  have  been  as  large  as  her 
love.  In  the  sudden  and  dire  emergency  which  made 
them  exiles,  these  two  gifts  of  affection  had  been  hastily 
snatched  among  the  few  other  things  they  had  been  able 
to  take,  in  the  confused  and  hurried  moment  of  departure. 

At  a  sign  from  her  mother,  Vera  took  down  this  Bible, 
and  drawing  the  failing  candle  nearer,  read  a  few  verses 
from  the  I4th  chapter  of  St.  John,  commencing,  "  Let 
not  your  heart  be  troubled."  At  the  close  of  each  day, 
for  many  sad  and  anxious  years,  the  poor  woman  had 
tried  to  sustain  her  faith  by  these  divine,  reassuring 
words.  They  were  read  first,  not  only  for  her  own  sup- 
port, but  in  the  hope  that  they  might  have  a  soothing, 
calming  effect  upon  the  disquieted  mind  of  her  husband. 
To  Vera,  also,  she  believed  that  they  might  eventually 
become  a  legacy  of  hope  and  strength.  After  they  were 
read,  some  other  passage  was  also  chosen. 

The  mother  had  opened  the  kitchen  door  that  Gula 
might  hear,  if  she  would,  since  she  never  could  be  per- 
suaded to  be  present  at  the  family  altar.  Gula  had  been 
stolen  from  her  African  home,  where,  as  she  once  hinted 
in  a  moment  of  anger,  she  had  possessed  some  rude 
and  savage  kind  of  royalty,  and  since  that  time  she 
had  suffered  cruelty  and  wrongs  without  stint  from  those 
who  called  themselves  Christians ;  thus  she  naturally 
chose  to  remain  a  pagan. 

As  Vera  read  the  sacred  words,  the  mother's  face, 
where  she  sat,  a  little  back  from  the  light,  was  sweet  and 
shadowy  enough  to  be  that  of  a  guardian  spirit. 


18  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

The  corner  in  which  the  father  remained  had  grown 
so  dark  that  only  the  gleam  of  his  restless  eyes  could  be 
seen.  Vera's  voice  was  sweet,  low,  and  reverent.  It 
was  not  a  form,  but  a  heartfelt  service  in  which  she  was 
leading,  and  one  that  she  knew  to  be  dear  to  her  mother. 

She  made  a  pretty  picture,  with  the  dim  candle  light- 
ing up  her  classic  profile  and  a  bit  of  her  golden  hair. 
All  the  rest  was  in  partial  and  suggestive  shadow. 

After  the  lesson  of  the  day  had  been  read,  they  sat  a 
few  moments  in  prayerful  silence.  With  the  shrinking 
timidity  which  some  women  find  it  impossible  to  over- 
come, this  Christian  wife  had  learned  to  pray  unceasingly 
in  her  heart,  but  could  never  venture  upon  outspoken 
words.  Her  nature  was  gentleness  itself,  and  strong  only 
in  its  power  to  cling  with  unselfish,  unfearing  tenacity  to 
those  she  loved.  Had  her  husband  been  condemned  to 
suffer  any  form  of  death,  her  meek  spirit  would  have  ut- 
tered no  protest,  but  only  force  could  have  prevented  her 
from  sharing  her  fate.  If,  by  interposing  her  own  life  she 
could  save  her  daughter's,  she  would  give  it  up  so  nat- 
urally and  instinctively  that  the  thought  of  self-sacrifice 
would  not  even  occur  to  her.  Years  before,  she  had  re- 
nounced, for  the  sake  of  her  love,  everything  save  honor  ; 
and  though  knowing  that  exile  and  soon  death  itself 
would  result,  she  never  considered  the  possibility  of  any 
other  course,  but  in  resignation  accepted  what  she  re- 
garded as  her  inevitable  lot.  Where  she  loved  most, 
with  the  certainty  of  gravitation,  her  steps  would  follow, 
while  the  power  remained.  She  was  one  whom  the  world 
would  call  weak,  but  whose  strength  God  would  honor, 
because  possessing  in  her  humble  sphere  his  loftiest  attri- 
bute, patient,  all-enduring  love. 

Before  seeking  her  own  little  nest,  Vera  went  out  to 
speak  to  the  old  negress,  whom  she  found  sitting  on  a 
low  door-step,  smoking  her  pipe. 

"  Art  lonely,  Gula  ?  " 


VERA  AND  HER  HOME  19 

"  No,  chile,  I'se  got  past  clat.  Dare's  lots  talkin'  to 
ole  Gula." 

"  Why,  I  hear  nothing  save  the  whippoorwiils,  and  the 
frogs  in  the  marsh." 

"  I  doesn't  hear  dem.  De  voices  dat  come  to  me  come 
from  far  back  of  dese  mountains.  I  isn't  lonely  any 
mo'." 

"  How  queer  !  "  said  Vera  musingly.  "  But  you  were 
lonely  once,  Gula?  " 

"  Yes,  chile  ;  for  nigh  on  twenty  summer  and  winter 
my  heart  was  a-breakin'.  I  was  so  homesick  like,  dat  I 
wanted  to  die  ebery  minute.  Den  I  died.  My  heart 
was  jus'  a  heavy  stun  in  my  bres'  ;  only  my  body  was 
kind  o'  half  alive  so  it  could  work  when  dey  whipped  it. 
But  de  heart  inside  didn't  tink  nuffin,  nor  feel  nuffin,  nor 
know  nuffin.  On  a  sudden,  one  night,  I  kind  o'  woke 
up  and  heerd  voices  a  callin'  me  to  run,  and  I  got  up  and 
run,  and  trabbled  for  days  and  nights  till  I  got  here  ; 
den  de  voices  tole  me  to  stop.  And  I'se  a  stoppin'  and 
a  waitin'  to  see  what  de  voices  say  nex'." 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  said  Vera  wonderingly. 

"  No,  chile,  you  needn't  try." 

"  Where  do  these  voices  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  way  back  o'  dese  hills — from  farder  dan  de 
great  water  whar  dem  floatin'  miseries,  dey  call  ships, 
go, — from  whar  de  sun  shine  hotter  dan  it  did  to-day,  all 
de  time.  Oh,  dis  poor  ole  heart's  nebber  been  warm 
since  dey  carried  me,  screamin',  on  de  floating  misery. 
Go  to  bed,  chile,  go  to  bed  ;  ole  Gula  hopes  you'se 
body'll  nebber  be  alive  arter  your  heart's  dead." 

"  Poor  old  Gula,"  said  Vera,  in  a  voice  so  gentle,  so 
sympathetic,  that  it  would  have  moved  the  stoniest 
nature.  "  I'm  very  sorry  for  you.  '  Let  not  your  heart 
be  troubled,'  Gula." 

The  old  woman  was  touched  by  the  young  girl's  com- 
passion ;  but  she  had  a  strange,  rugged  pride,  that  pre- 


20  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

vented  her  from  ever  receiving  openly  what  still  was 
balm  in  secret.  Probably  the  voices  that  had  induced 
the  fugitive  to  stay  at  the  humble  cottage  were  those  of 
her  present  mistress  and  Vera,  speaking  in  the  long  un- 
heard accents  of  kindness,  though  in  the  poor  creature's 
disordered  fancy  they  had  blended  with  those  she  imag- 
ined coming  from  her  old  tropical  home.  Therefore,  the 
roughness  with  wWich  she  said, 

"  Dare,  dare,  chile,  none  o'  dat,  don't  keep  you'se 
mudder  waitin'  ;  go  to  bed,"  was  only  assumed  to  dis- 
guise the  sudden  relenting  which  usually  takes  place 
when  the  flintiest  heart  is  touched  by  the  potent  wand  of 
kindness. 

"Good  night,  Gula,"  said  Vera.  "Among  your 
voices  you  shall  always  hear  mine  ;  and  I  hope  it  won't 
be  cross  often  ;  "  and  she  followed  her  mother,  who  had 
already  gone  on  before  to  her  child's  sleeping  apart- 
ment. 

It  was  as  strange  a  little  nook  as  one  could  imagine  ; 
and  if  Vera  had  been  a  nymph  of  the  mountains,  as 
her  appearance  had  suggested  to  Saville,  this  resting- 
place  would  have  been  in  harmony.  The  rude  cottage 
had  been  built  at  the  sloping  base  of  the  rocky  height 
crowned  in  later  years  with  the  frowning  walls  of  Fort 
Putnam.  Just  above  the  cabin  on  the  southern  side,  a 
huge  crag  projected  so  far  from  the  rocky  steep  as  to 
form  a  natural  shelter  or  sort  of  cave.  This  little  niche 
had  been  enlarged  by  excavation,  and  the  granite  eaves 
extended  by  rough-hewn  boards,  so  as  to  form  quite  a 
roomy  apartment,  which  Vera  and  her  mother  had  dis- 
guised into  as  dainty  a  rural  bower  as  any  grotto  of  the 
Grecian  nymphs.  It  was  connected  with  the  main 
living-room  of  the  cabin  by  a  covered- way  securely 
thatched  and  protected  at  the  sides  by  heavy  logs,  fast- 
ened in  the  securest  manner.  Indeed  the  entire  dwell- 
ing had  been  built  with  almost  the  strength  of  a  fortress, 


VERA  AND  HER  HOME  21 

and  Vera's  father  seemed  to  find  a  growing  satisfaction 
in  strengthening  its  various  parts  with  stone  and  wood. 
The  brief  ascent  to  her  "  nest  " — as  the  young  girl  called 
it — was  made  by  stone  steps.  When  her  mother  grew 
feeble,  Vera  brought  home  a  slender  grapevine  that  she 
had  found  swinging  from  a  lofty  forest-tree,  and  stretched 
it  from  her  door  to  that  of  the  living-room.  By  laying 
hold  of  this,  the  ascent  could  be  made  with  greater  ease. 
A  stout  cord  passed  along  the  roof,  so  that  if  anything 
happened,  summons  or  alarm  could  be  given  instantly. 
But  though  the  poor  man  who  arranged  all  these  pre- 
cautions seemed  burdened  with  an  increasing  dread,  the 
years  had  passed,  and  they  had  been  unmolested  in 
their  wilderness  retreat. 

The  mother  placed  the  candle  on  a  little  bureau,  and 
sat,  panting  from  her  climb,  on  the  edge  of  Vera's  couch. 
The  daughter  drew  a  bench  forward,  and  dropping  on 
it,  leaned  her  arms  on  her  mother's  lap  and  looked  up 
into  her  face  as  she  did  when  a  little  child.  Indeed,  in 
her  guileless  innocence  and  ignorance  of  the  world  from 
which  she  had  ever  been  secluded,  she  was  still  a  child, 
though  fully  sixteen. 

"  Now,  mother,  you  have  been  working  too  hard  again 
to-day,"  she  said  reproachfully.  "  See  how  tired  you 
are." 

"  No,  dear — I  am  only  a  little  breathless — from  climb- 
ing to  your  nest.  I  get  out  of  breath  so  easily  of  late. 
Now  tell  me  what  has  happened." 

Vera  described  her  adventure  of  the  afternoon,  which 
in  her  tranquil  life  was  a  notable  event.  She  dwelt  long 
and  somewhat  admiringly  upon  the  stranger's  appearance 
and  manner,  especially  his  act  of  putting  the  water-lily 
bud  in  his  button-hole. 

"  If  he  loves  flowers,  mother,  he  can't  be  bad." 

But  it  was  upon  the  notes  of  his  flute  that  she  descanted 
most  enthusiastically.  "And  do  you  know,  mother,  he 


22  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

played  the  same  air  that  I  had  been  singing,  and  which 
you  taught  me  years  ago.  But  he  must  have  thought  me 
wild  as  a  hawk." 

"  No,  dear,  as  timid  as  a  dove." 

"  Well,  I  was  greatly  startled  at  first.  When  I  got  a 
good  look  at  him  I  was  not  so  much  afraid.  But  you, 
and  especially  father,  have  so  often  warned  me  against 
making  acquaintances.  You  don't  think  I  was  rude, 
now  ? " 

"  No,  dear,  no  more  than  the  birds  that  take  wing 
when  you  come  too  near." 

"  The  birds  are  getting  very  presuming,  mother  ;  they 
either  think  that  I  am  one  of  them  or  not  worth  minding. 
They  only  cock  their  little  heads  on  one  side  and  give  me 
a  saucy  look,  and  then  go  about  their  business  just  as  if  I 
were  not  near." 

"They  know  and  do  not  fear  their  friends,"  said  the 
mother  abstractedly,  "  and  you  have  been  their  harmless 
playmate  so  long  that  they  know  all  about  you."  And 
the  poor  woman  gave  a  long  sigh. 

"  Now  what  does  that  mean,  mother?  " 

"That  you  cannot  always  have  such  innocent  and 
harmless  companions.  You  are  growing  up,  Vera. 
You  cannot  always  be  a  little  wild-flower  of  the  woods. 
You  must  make  acquaintances  ere  long.  It  is  needful 
that  you  should.  But  how  are  you  to  make  them  ? 
Where  are  you  to  find  them  ?  We  are  strangely  situated. 
I  wish  we  had  some  good  neighbors,  and  your  father  did 
not  feel  as  he  does." 

"Ought  I  then  to  have  stayed  and  spoken  to  this 
young  man?  " 

"  No,  darling,  you  did  right.  He  was  an  utter 
stranger.  And  yet  such  are  all  the  world.  The  ordinary 
ties  which  unite  us  to  our  fellow  creatures  seem  utterly 
broken,  and  our  isolation  is  so  complete  that  I  see  no  es- 
cape from  it.  For  myself  I  do  not  mind  it.  I  am  con- 


VESA  AND  HER  HOME  23 

tent.     But  for  your  sake,  Vera,  I  do  indeed  wish  it  were 
otherwise." 

"  I  too  am  content,  mother.  The  woods  are  full  of 
playmates  for  me,  and  we  chatter  away  to  each  other  as 
merrily  as  the  day  is- long.  We  are  beginning  to  under- 
stand each  other  too.  Do  you  know,  mother,  that  the 
sounds  of  nature  seem  a  sort  of  language  which  I  am 
fast  learning  ?  I  went  out  on  the  hills  the  other  day  after 
the  shower,  and  found  a  brook  and  a  brown-thrush  sing- 
ing a  duet  together,  and  I  sat  down  and  mocked  them  till 
I  learned  what  they  were  saying  " — and  in  almost  perfect 
mimicry  she  first  gave  the  gurgling  murmur  of  the  stream 
and  then  the  mellow  whistle  of  the  thrush. 

"  You  are  a  strange  child,  Vera.  But  what  did  the 
brook  and  bird  say  ?  I  do  not  understand  their 
language." 

"Why,  it's  plain  as  can  be.  They  said,  '  Cheer  up, 
Vera.  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.  After  the  shower 
comes  the  sunshine.'  What  else  could  they  mean? 
There  was  the  brook  sparkling  in  the  sunlight,  and  sing- 
ing the  louder  for  the  shower  ;  and  there  was  the  little 
bird,  which  neither  the  lightning  nor  the  rain  had  hurt." 

Tears  came  into  the  mother's  eyes,  and  kissing  her 
child,  she  said  : 

"  Good-night,  Vera  ;  you  are  so  innocent  that  God 
talks  with  you,  as  he  did  with  Adam  and  Eve  in  the 
garden." 

The  mother  returned  to  the  main  room,  which  was  also 
used  as  a  sleeping  apartment.  Gula  had  already  retired 
by  some  rude  steps  to  her  loft  overhead. 

With  the  dawn  of  the  next  day,  the  mother  was  awak- 
ened by  Vera's  receding  voice,  mingling  with  the  songs 
of  her  music-masters,  the  birds,  and  knew  that  she  had 
gone  for  the  promised  strawberries.  Before  very  long, 
she  returned  with  an  oddly  constructed  basket  of  broad 
leaves,  heaped  up  with  the  dantiest  fruit  of  the  year,  and 


24  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

a  moment  later  the  cabin  was  filled  with  their  wild  aroma, 
as,  with  scarlet  fingers,  Vera  quickly  prepared  them  for 
breakfast. 

"  How  kind  it  was  of  you  to  get  us  these  berries,"  said 
her  mother.  "  I  thought  1  had  lost  my  appetite  alto- 
gether, but  these  taste  so  good  that  I  must  be  better.  Per- 
haps they  will  make  me  well." 

The  flush  of  pleasure  that  came  into  Vera's  face  vied 
with  the  ruby  fruit,  and  she  said,  joyously  : 

"  You  shall  have  them,  mother,  as  long  as  there  is  one 
to  be  found  in  the  shadiest  nook." 

The  light  of  day  now  revealed  clearly  the  character  of 
their  abode,  which,  in  its  exterior,  did  not  differ  greatly 
from  the  ordinary  log  cabin  of  the  frontier.  There  had 
evidently  been  an  effort  to  make  it  exceedingly  strong, 
and  on  every  side  were  loop-holes,  through  which  could 
be  passed  the  muzzle  of  a  rifle. 

But  the  usual  bareness  and  unsightliness  of  these 
primitive  dwellings  had  been  quite  removed  by  festoons 
of  the  American  woodbine  (or  ivy)  which  Vera  had 
planted  at  the  corners,  and  trained  along  the  eaves  and 
to  the  very  ridge.  There  were  also  attempts  at  flower- 
beds, in  which  she  had  sought  to  tame  some  of  her  wild 
favorites  of  the  woods. 

But  the  interior  was  an  interesting  study,  from  the 
effort  of  refinement,  everywhere  manifest,  to  triumph 
over  the  rudest  materials.  Such  of  the  furniture  as  had 
been  bought,  was  strong  and  plain,  and  had  evidently 
been  selected  from  motives  of  economy.  This  had  been 
added  to  and  supplemented  as  far  as  the  ingenuity  of  the 
inmates  permitted,  and  on  every  side  were  seen  pretty 
little  things  that  were  not  childish,  and  yet  would  please 
a  child. 

Autumn  leaves,  still  brilliant,  which  Vera  had  pressed, 
with  great  pains,  between  dry  leaves  preserved  for  the 
purpose,  festooned  the  unsightly  walls,  producing  an  ef- 


VEEA  AND  HER  HOME  25 

feet  that  gave  the  young  girl  more  content  then  Gobelin 
tapestry  gives  to  its  princely  possessors.  Mingling  with 
these  festoons  were  button-balls,  cut  the  preceding 
autumn  from  the  plane-tree,  and  bright  red  berries.  In 
one  corner  was  a  huge  hornet's  nest,  suspended  from  the 
branch  where  its  savage  little  architects  had  built  it  the 
year  before,  and  whose  construction  Vera  had  watched 
with  great  interest,  until,  in  the  fall,  the  paper  citadel, 
that  an  army  would  hesitate  to  attack,  was  evacuated  ; 
then  she  had  carried  it  home  as  a  trophy.  But  she  found 
that  it  still  contained  a  small  garrison,  which  occasioned 
no  little  commotion  as  they  recovered  from  their  torpor  in 
the  warmth  of  the  room.  On  a  spray  beside  this  fortress, 
was  placed,  for  contrast,  an  abode  of  peace — a  hum- 
ming-bird's tiny  nest.  In  place  of  prosaic  pegs  and 
hooks,  the  antlers  of  the  stag  were  fastened  here  and 
there,  and  served  many  a  useful  purpose.  Rustic 
brackets,  and  a  cross  of  gray  bark,  with  a  mossy  base, 
divested  the  apartment  of  all  appearance  of  the  squalid 
poverty  that  often  characterizes  the  pioneer's  cabin. 

But  the  principal  feature  was  the  wide  stone  fireplace 
into  which  for  many  years  Vera  could  pass  without  stoop- 
ing, and  in  the  corner  of  which  she  still  sat  on  winter 
evenings,  reading  by  the  light  of  the  blazing  fire,  her  in- 
exhaustible story  book,  the  "  Plays  of  William  Shake- 
speare." Over  the  hearth  was  a  great  iron  crane  ;  and 
it  was  a  proud  day  for  Vera  when  she  learned  to  relieve 
her  mother  by  swinging  it  in  and  out,  deftly  hanging 
thereon  the  sooty  kettle,  without  smirching  her  hands  or 
dress.  Above  a  rude  mantel,  on  which  Vera  had  placed 
some  odd  little  ornaments  gathered  in  her  rambles,  were 
suspended  a  long  rifle  of  very  fine  workmanship,  and  a 
silver-mounted  fowling-piece,  which  the  exiles  had 
brought  with  them,  rightly  estimating  their  value  when 
seeking  a  refuge  in  the  wilderness.  The  shotgun  was  light 
but  strong,  and  of  exquisite  finish,  and  had  in  other  days 


26  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

brought  down  many  a  pheasant  in  English  parks.  It 
carried  just  as  truly  now,  and  Vera  had  learned  to  be 
almost  as  unerring  in  its  use  as  her  father.  In  conse- 
quence, a  plump  partridge  frequently  graced  their  board 
that  too  often  was  meagre  enough.  For  a  large  part  of 
the  year  game  was  their  principal  food,  as  her  father  sup- 
ported his  family  by  hunting  and  trapping.  But  of  late 
he  had  grown  so  moody  and  uncertain  in  his  actions,  that 
for  days  he  would  sit  in  his  shadowy  corner  brooding  over 
some  dark  secret  of  the  past.  It  would  then  devolve  on 
Vera  alone  to  supply  the  needs  of  the  household,  and  at 
times  the  poor  child's  heart  was  heavy,  as  weary  and  dis- 
couraged she  returned  in  the  evening  only  to  report 
her  ill-success.  Then  her  father  would  rouse  up  as  if  his 
manhood  were  struggling  against  the  paralysis  creeping 
over  his  mind,  and  he  would  be  more  like  his  former  self. 
But  as  Vera  grew  older,  and  more  acquainted  with  the 
habits  and  haunts  of  game,  and  learned  in  what  waters 
to  drop  her  line  successfully,  she  became  more  self-reliant 
and  confident  that  she  could  at  least  maintain  a  supply  of 
food  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst.  On  days  when  the 
man's  mind  was  most  unclouded,  he  would,  at  his  wife's 
solicitation,  take  the  skins  and  products  of  the  chase  to 
some  village  down  the  river,  and  barter  them  for  such 
things  as  were  needed.  A  little  of  the  hoard  of  gold 
which  they  had  brought  with  them  still  remained,  and 
was  kept  for  some  emergency  of  the  future. 

Thus  the  years  passed  on,  and  Vera  was  ceasing  to  be 
a  child  in  appearance,  though  still  a  child  in  guileless 
simplicity,  and  content  with  the  pleasures  and  duties 
which  had  filled  her  time  thus  far. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  ICONOCLASTS 

THE  northern  breeze  caused  Saville's  boat  to  glide  rap- 
idly through  the  looming  shadows  of  the  lower  Highlands, 
and  in  comparatively  brief  time  lights  glimmered  invitingly 
from  the  village  of  Peekskill,  which  was  situated  at  the 
head  of  a  wide  bay  upon  the  eastern  shore.  Here  he 
decided  to  seek  refreshment  and  spend  the  night,  intending 
to  pursue  his  homeward  journey  the  following  morning. 

The  episode  of  the  afternoon  had  formed  a  pleasing  but 
temporary  diversion  to  the  thoughts  it  had  interrupted ; 
but  now,  with  increasing  power  to  pain  and  agitate,  they 
came  trooping  back.  In  the  consciousness  of  solitude  and 
in  the  enshrouding  darkness,  he  made  less  effort  at  self- 
control.  His  features  were  distorted  by  contending 
emotions,  and  he  often  gave  vent  to  passionate  exclama- 
tions. It  was  evident  that  a  painful  question  was  press- 
ing upon  him  for  immediate  solution,  and  that  the 
results  of  his  action  in  any  case  would  be  very  serious. 

But  by  the  time  he  reached  the  rude  wharf  he  regained 
his  self-command,  and  having  moored  his  boat,  sought  a 
dwelling  which  combined  the  character  of  farmhouse  and 
tavern.  Here  he  received  a  welcome  that  was  but  in 
part  professional,  for  in  those  days  of  limited  travel,  a 
stranger  was  an  event,  and  a  guest  in  reality  as  well  as 
in  name,  being  often  made  much  of,  and  becoming  an 
object  of  absorbing  interest,  it  might  be  added  also,  of 
curiosity,  to  his  entertainers. 

Saville  found  the  little  inn  already  in  a  state  of  excite-, 
ment  and  bustle  over  the  arrival  of  an  old  acquaintance 


28  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

of  his  own,  a  wealthy,  pleasure-loving  young  gentleman 
from  the  city  below,  who  was  off  on  a  fishing  excursion, 
and  who  eagerly  sought  to  gain  Saville  as  a  companion. 

"  What  is  the  news  from  the  army  before  Boston?  " 
asked  Saville,  gloomily. 

"  '  The  army  before  Boston '  be  hanged,  and  the  army 
in  Boston  also.  I  could  not  sit  down  to  dinner  but  a  fire- 
brand of  a  patriot  would  pluck  one  sleeve,  and  demand, 
'  Are  you  for  Liberty  ? '  and  an.  ancient  fossil  who  had 
brushed  against  a  duke,  or  mayhap  a  duchess,  would 
pluck  the  other  sleeve,  and  querulously  question,  '  Are 
you  not  for  the  King  ? '  It  was  in  vain  that  I  anathema- 
tized both,  and  said,  '  No,  I'm  for  dinner.'  There  is  no 
such  thing  as  peace  down  there,  unless  you  are  ranting 
on  one  side  or  the  other.  So  I  snatched  my  fishing  tackle, 
and  showing  a  clean  pair  of  heels,  am  here  among  the 
mountains.  It's  a  confounded  poor  world  for  a  man  to 
enjoy  himself  in.  There  are  always  two  parties  in  it 
bound  to  devour  each  other,  and  if  you  won't  raven  on 
one  side  or  the  other,  they'll  both  turn  in  and  rend  you. 
I  don't  care  whether  the  laws  are  made  in  Philadelphia 
or  London,  if  they  will  only  let  me  alone.  There,  I'm 
through  with  the  accursed  squabbles  of  the  hour.  I'm 
here  to  get  rid  of  them,  and  intend  for  the  next  few  days 
to  forget  the  existence  of  both  Parliament  and  Congress. 
So  come  with  me,  and  keep  out  of  purgatory  as  long  as 
you  can." 

In  spite  of  his  prolonged  mental  conflict,  Saville  still 
felt  himself  unequal  to  solve  the  question  that  burdened 
him  ;  and  so  to  gain  time  and  distract  his  thoughts,  he 
complied  with  his  friend's  wish. 

On  the  following  morning  they  started,  equipped  for 
the  sport.  It  was  the  Sabbath,  but  in  Saville's  estima- 
tion the  day  was  no  more  sacred  than  would  be  a  Decadi 
of  the  coming  French  Revolution.  He  had  lived  in  in- 
fidel France  sufficiently  long  to  regard  the  Sabbath  as  a 


THE  ICONOCLASTS  29 

relic  of  superstition.  He  was  a  disciple  of  the  "  New 
Philosophy,"  and  had  faith  in  naught  save  man,  and 
man  was  a  law  unto  himself. 

But  the  sport  which  completely  absorbed  his  companion 
dragged  heavily  with  Saville,  and  after  a  few  days  he 
returned  to  his  boat,  resolving  to  put  off  his  decision  no 
longer  ;  so  the  latter  part  of  the  week  saw  him  again 
beating  southward  against  the  wind  with  many  a  long 
tack,  as  the  river  broadened  before  him. 

Saville' s  position  was  a  trying  one,  and  yet  not  peculiar 
in  that  day  when  the  plowshare  of  division  ran,  not  only 
through  communities,  social  circles,  and  churches,  but 
also  through  families,  severing  the  closest  ties.  In  order 
that  his  present  circumstances  and  character  may  be 
better  understood,  it  will  be  necessary  to  take  a  brief 
glance  into  the  past. 

Theron  Saville  combined  both  the  F'rench  and  Dutch 
elements  in  his  parentage.  On  his  father's  side  he  came 
from  that  grand  old  Huguenot  stock  which  has  largely 
leavened  for  good  the  American  character.  He  had 
thus  inherited  a  legacy  of  prayer  and  sacred  memories 
from  his  ancestry,  and  might  if  he  would,  receive  the 
blessing  which  descends  to  children's  children  :  a  "  cove- 
nant-keeping God"  would  faithfully  seek  to  reclaim 
him  from  evil.  But  he  had  utterly  abandoned  the  faith  of 
his  fathers,  and  was  now  an  open  unbeliever. 

His  moral  state  was  the  natural  result  of  the  influences 
he  had  fallen  under  during  his  education.  In  accordance 
with  a  custom  quite  common  among  patrician  families  in 
colonial  days,  he  had  been  sent  to  Europe  to  finish  his 
studies.  After  a  few  years  at  an  English  university  he 
went  to  Paris  to  acquire  his  profession,  that  of  military  and 
civil  engineering.  But  his  tastes  did  not  lead  in  the  di- 
rection of  exact  and  practical  science,  and  he  appreciated 
the  French  opera  far  more  than  French  roads  and  fortifi- 
cations. But  it  was  the  new  and  skeptical  literature  of 


30  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

that  chaotic  age  that  chiefly  fascinated  him.  The  bril- 
liant theorists  and  iconoclasts  who  were  then,  with  jest 
and  infinite  wit,  recklessly  sapping  the  foundations  of  the 
slowly  built  structures  of  human  belief,  of  social  custom, 
and  of  established  government,  seemed  to  him  the  heroes 
of  the  world.  He,  as  little  as  they,  foresaw  the  crashing 
ruin  for  which  they  were  preparing.  Bigoted  violence 
had  succeeded  only  too  well  in  stamping  out  and  exiling 
the  Huguenot  element,  and  what  then  passed  for  religion 
in  France,  was  such  a  wretched  imposition  as  to  be  de- 
spised even  by  its  consecrated  priests.  Social  distinc- 
tions were  arbitrary  and  unnatural.  Etiquette  ruled  in 
the  place  of  fidelity  and  principle,  and  behind  this  tinsel 
mask  gross  license  rioted.  Government  had  become 
simply  the  oppression  of  the  many  by  the  few — an  organ- 
ized system  to  rob  the  people  that  the  titled  might  indulge 
in  unbounded  extravagance.  The  corner-stone,  which  is 
the  family,  with  its  sacred  and  guarded  rights,  had  crum- 
bled, and  the  whole  social  and  political  fabric  was  conse- 
quently tottering  in  inevitable  weakness.  The  character 
of  the  times  made  it  far  easier  to  scoff  and  strike  at  all 
institutions  that  should  be  sacred  than  to  reform  them  ; 
and  the  leading  minds  of  the  day  were  great  only  in  their 
genius  for  satire  and  innovation.  But  it  was  the  fearful 
degeneracy  in  the  institutions  themselves  that  gave  point 
to  the  sarcasm,  and  it  was  their  crumbling  weakness  that 
made  blows,  which  now  seem  puny,  then  to  appear 
herculean. 

Young  Saville,  unschooled  by  experience,  had  just  the 
temperament  to  be  carried  away  by  the  railing  and  ir- 
reverent spirit  of  the  age.  Naturally  visionary,  enthusi- 
astic, and  gifted  with  far  more  imagination  than  judg- 
ment, he  reveled  in  the  "Atheistic  Philosophy,"  and 
exulted  over  it  as  the  groundwork  of  a  new  and  better 
order  of  things.  Voltaire  enchained  him  by  his  bound- 
less wit.  Diderot,  and  even  Helvetius  with  his  grcss, 


THE  ICONOCLASTS  31 

materialistic  theory,  that  sensation  originates  all  that 
there  is  in  man,  became  his  masters,  while  in  political 
creed  he  was  a  disciple  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. 
Liberty,  which  was  of  an  impossible  kind — liberty,  which 
from  the  absence  of  safeguards  and  foundations  must, 
and  in  fact  did,  degenerate  into  the  wildest  license,  be- 
came his  dream  ;  and  he  hoped  to  become  eventually 
an  apostle  of  this  French  ideal  of  freedom,  in  his  own 
land. 

Yet  when  the  time  came  for  Saville  to  return  to  New 
York,  he  had  not  become  utterly  vitiated  by  the  evil  in- 
fluences which  were  then  demoralizing  a  nation.  Some- 
thing in  the  old  Huguenot  blood  and  in  his  early  training 
still  remained  in  his  nature  as  a  germ  that  might  be  de- 
veloped into  healthful  growth.  He  was  not  false,  though 
unrestrained  by  religion,  or  even  by  what  was  regarded 
as  morality  in  his  own  land  ;  he  accepted  the  world's 
code  of  honor  and  unlike  the  world  in  which  he  had 
been  living,  was  true  to  it.  His  word  bound  him  ;  and 
though  capable  of  very  wrong  action,  he  shrank  from 
anything  mean,  base,  or  ungrateful.  He  was  not  coldly, 
selfishly,  and  deliberately  depraved  at  heart.  He  scoffed 
with  his  favorite  author,  Voltaire,  not  at  what  he  believed 
sacred,  but  at  what,  in  that  false  age,  pretended  to 
sacredness,  and  was  in  fact  a  solemn  and  venerable  farce. 
The  truth  back  of  this,  which  had  been  corrupted  or 
abandoned  altogether,  he  did  not  recognize  nor  even  be- 
lieve in  its  existence.  A  false  priesthood  had  made  re- 
ligion a  byword  and  a  hissing.  As  ignorant  and  super- 
ficial as  the  leaders  of  opinion,  he  did  not  distinguish  the 
purer  faith  of  his  fathers  from  the  gross  superstition  from 
which  it  had  separated  itself,  but  condemned  all  religion 
as  the  folly  of  credulity,  the  evidence  of  a  weak  and 
unenlightened  mind. 

He  was   heartily  in  sympathy  with    Rousseau's   best 
characteristic,  hatred  of  the  artificial  and  unnatural,  and 


32  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

joined  in  his  protest  against  the  absurd  and  arbitrary 
tyranny  of  etiquette  and  monstrous  custom.  He  believed 
with  the  great  innovator,  that  after  the  rags  had  been 
taken  from  the  peasant,  and  the  titles  and  court  dress 
lifted  from  the  noble,  in  each  case  remained  that  essential 
atom  of  society — man ;  and  he  held  that  this  human 
unit,  with  its  innate  rights  and  qualities,  naturally  devel- 
oped, must  be  the  starting  point  in  the  reorganization  of 
the  political  fabric. 

He  could  not  then  see  that  he  and  his  teachers  would 
ever  build  in  vain,  even  were  they  to  attempt  reconstruc- 
tion ;  for  they  ignored  man's  moral  and  spiritual  nature 
and  its  needs.  Let  man  build  his  side  of  the  arch  never 
so  well,  the  work  would  crumble,  because  the  opposite 
side,  which  is  God  and  the  pure  morality  of  his  law,  and 
the  key-stone,  which  is  intelligent  faith  and  obedience, 
would  be  utterly  lacking. 

But  there  was  hope  for  Saville,  because  he  was  so  sin- 
cere in  his  skepticism  ;  because  he  accepted  so  enthusi- 
astically theories,  the  majority  of  which  now  have  in 
history  a  record  like  that  of  brilliant  meteors  only.  He 
had  not  reached  the  most  hopeless  of  mental  attitudes, 
that  of  coldly  doubting  everything,  nor  had  he  sunk  into 
the  apathy  of  discouragement,  or  plunged  into  the  reck- 
lessness of  those  who  see  nothing  good  or  sure  save 
present  gratification. 

His  authors  were  demi-gods,  and  adorned  a  temple  of 
fame  which  he  might  enter.  He  was  not  near  enough  to 
know  the  selfishness,  meanness,  and  often  baseness  of 
their  lives.  If  he  had  read  the  confessions  of  Rousseau, 
he  might  not  so  readily  have  become  his  disciple.  The 
fact  that  he  could  honestly  believe  in  these  writers  and 
their  teachings,  proved  him  capable  of  accepting  the  truth 
with  equal  heartiness,  when  once  apprehended. 

Saville  heard  with  pleasure  of  the  growing  restlessness 
in  the  American  colonies  under  British  rule,  and  ardently 


THE  ICONOCLASTS  33 

hoped  that  he  might  there  become  a  leading  advocate  of 
the  broad  liberty  of  the  new  philosophy. 

It  became  his  favorite  dream  that  he  might  be  one  of 
the  founders  of  a  republic  in  the  new  world,  in  which 
liberty  and  equality  should  be  the  corner-stones,  human 
reason  the  sole  architect,  and  nature  the  inspiration. 
During  his  voyage  home,  he  spent  much  of  his  time  in 
the  imaginary  construction  of  this  Utopia  of  the  future, 
in  which  he  hoped  to  have  no  mean  place.  Nor  was  it 
at  all  surprising  that  one  of  his  age  and  temperament 
should  have  fallen  completely  under  the  influence  of  the 
philosophy  that  was  then  sweeping  over  the  world. 


CHAPTER  IV 
" FOR  WORSE" 

SAVILLE  had  not  been  long  in  his  native  city  before  an 
event  occurred  that  changed  the  spirit  of  his  dreams,  or 
rather  blended  them  with  others  of  a  different  nature. 
The  nebulous  goddess  of  liberty,  at  whose  feet  he  had 
been  worshiping,  was  exchanged  for  a  creature  of  flesh 
and  blood,  earthy  indeed,  material  even  to  her  mind. 
But  Saville  had  a  faculty  of  seeing  things,  not  as  they 
were,  but  through  a  transfiguring  mist  of  his  own  imag- 
ination. 

During  his  voyage  home,  his  father  had  died  suddenly, 
and,  in  consequence,  young  Saville,  for  a  few  months 
immediately  after  his  return,  was  much  secluded  from 
social  and  political  life.  Sorrow  renders  the  heart  more 
tender  and  receptive,  and  there  were  long  and  vacant 
days  to  be  beguiled.  His  mother,  who  had  inherited  the 
thrifty  traits  of  her  Dutch  ancestry,  availed  herself  of  this 
opportunity  to  secure  an  alliance  which  worldly  wisdom 
would  commend,  inasmuch  as  the  young  lady  in  ques- 
tion was  the  heiress  of  property  which  would  double  the 
large  wealth  of  her  son,  and  thus,  of  course,  double  his 
happiness.  Their  mutual  acres  were  so  situated  that 
they  could  be  joined  together  with  great  advantage. 
Whether  the  moral  and  mental  qualities  of  the  parties 
themselves  were  equally  adapted  to  union,  was  not  con- 
sidered, and  indeed  seldom  is,  by  your  sagacious  match- 
maker, who  to  the  end  of  time  will  be  filled  with  self- 
congratulation  on  having  united  estates.  That  two  poor 
souls  must  henceforth  dwell  in  purgatorial  fires  of  dis- 
cord, or  become  polished  icicles  under  the  steady  frost 


"FOR   WORSE"  35 

of  indifference,  is  a  mere  matter  of  sentiment.  Two  acres 
instead  of  one  is  a  solid  consideration,  and  ought  to 
satisfy  any  heart. 

Mrs.  Saville  loved  her  son  after  her  fashion,  and  was 
serving  him,  as  she  supposed,  in  the  best  and  most  en- 
during manner.  She  was  aware  that  society  would  re- 
gard the  match  as  brilliant ;  and  to  have  the  world  nod 
approval  was  as  great  a  thing  a  hundred  years  ago  as  to- 
day. She  had  met  the  parents,  the  uncles,  and  aunts  of 
the  coveted  heiress,  in  solemn  conclave  on  the  subject, 
and  found  them  quite  as  ready  to  enter  into  the  arrange- 
ment as  herself.  With  many  fine  speeches  they  disguised 
the  property  considerations  uppermost  in  each  mind,  and 
it  was  agreed  that  the  young  lady's  disposition  should 
be  delicately  inclined  to  assist.  That  wilful  factor  in  the 
problem,  however,  bluntly  said,  "I'll  wait  and  see  him 
first." 

This  very  natural  decision  disturbed  Mrs.  Saville  but 
little  ;  for  she  knew  that  unless  her  son  had  changed 
greatly,  his  appearance  would  be  in  his  favor.  Her 
chief  ground  of  anxiety  was  the  action  of  the  young  man 
himself. 

"Men  are  so  unreasonable,"  she  said;  "but  unless 
Theron  is  utterly  blind  to  his  own  interests,  he  must  see 
things  as  we  do.  The  young  lady  I  have  chosen  for 
him  is  rich,  handsome,  and  of  one  of  the  first  families 
in  the  colony.  Indeed  her  relatives  in  England  are 
titled." 

All  this  was  true.  Mrs.  Saville  had  weighed  externals 
carefully.  Julia  Ashburton  was  very  handsome  after  her 
type  and  style.  The  prudent  mother  had  considered 
everything  save  the  viewless,  subtle  spirit  which  dwelt 
within  the  beauty,  and  which  would  prove,  to  the  sorrow 
of  all  concerned,  the  spirit  of  a  Tartar. 

Verily  Saville  was  utterly  blind  to  his  own  interests ; 
for,  soon  after  his  return,  he  delighted  his  mother  and 


36  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

the  other  schemers  by  action  that  accorded  with  their 
plans. 

Miss  Ashburton  was  eminently  gifted  with  the  power  to 
awaken  passion  ;  and  in  one  who,  like  Theron  Saville, 
saw  everything  through  the  transfiguring  haze  of  his  own 
fancy,  she  could  even  inspire  an  approach  to  love.  But 
a  man  who  desired  a  wife,  a  home,  and  domestic  peace, 
would  look  askance  at  her.  Her  black  eyes  were  too 
near  together,  and  emitted  scintillations  rather  than  the 
pure,  steady  light  of  a  womanly  nature.  They  could 
fascinate  and  beguile  with  something  of  a  serpent's 
power,  but  they  would  drop  abashed  before  the  search- 
ing gaze  of  an  honest  man.  Her  forehead  was  none  too 
low,  but  it  was  narrow.  The  development  of  her  lower 
face  was  full  ;  not  too  much  so,  perhaps,  for  sensuous 
beauty,  but  to  a  close  observer  it  would  suggest  the  trait 
of  stubbornness,  and  the  possibility  that  passion  might 
triumph  over  all  restraint.  But  it  was  the  perfection  of 
her  form — which  she  was  not  at  all  chary  in  displaying — 
and  her  grace  of  carriage,  which  constituted  her  chief 
attractions.  She  was  as  lithe  and  supple  as  a  leopard,  as 
well  as  feline  in  many  of  her  qualities. 

But  Saville  glorified  her  into  ideal  womanhood,  and 
she  for  a  time  fostered  his  delusion.  Having  seen  the 
handsome  young  stranger,  who  possessed  all  the  courtly 
bearing  and  polish  that  could  be  acquired  in  French 
salons,  she  readily  joined  in  the  family  conspiracy.  She 
was  as  gentle  and  sympathetic  as  it  was  in  her  nature  to 
be,  and  gave  him  most  of  her  time.  A  spirit  less  exuber- 
ant than  Saville' s  would  have  had  a  vague  sense  of  dis- 
satisfaction— a  consciousness  of  something  wanting  in 
both  her  words  and  manner  ;  but  his  heart,  generous  to  a 
fault,  was  deeply  touched  by  her  show  of  regard  for  his 
recent  bereavement,  and  his  love  for  her  was  mingled 
with  gratitude.  Soon  she  saw  him  a  captive  at  her  feet, 
and  could  make  her  own  terms. 


"FOR  WORSE"  37 

During  the  long  hours  spent  together,  he,  hoping  to 
find  a  sympathetic  and  congenial  spirit,  had  often  en- 
larged (to  her  horror)  on  his  favorite  dreams  of  broad, 
democratic  liberty  and  equality.  He  even  permitted  her 
to  see  his  bitter  hostility  to  everything  that  bore  the  name 
of  religion,  or  superstition,  as  he  would  characterize  it, 
and  he  regarded  all  forms  of  faith  as  the  chosen  instru- 
ments of  tyranny.  He  believed  that  he  could  soon 
kindle  in  her  an  enthusiasm  equal  to  his  own  for  the  new 
and  glorious  ideas  that  he  had  acquired  abroad,  and  for 
the  reception  of  which,  he  imagined,  events  were  rapidly 
preparing  America. 

Now,  Miss  Ashburton  was,  by  nature  and  education, 
as  hostile  to  these  ideas  as  it  was  possible  for  any  one  to 
be.  She  was  a  Tory  and  royalist  to  her  heart's  core,  as 
were  all  her  family  ;  and  their  descent  from  a  titled*house 
in  England  was  the  cherished  source  of  their  abounding 
pride. 

The  girl  to  whom  Saville  often  discoursed  of  his 
Utopian  dreams,  in  a  manner  so  rapt  and  preoccupied 
that  he  scarcely  noted  her  effort  to  disguise  her  apathy 
and  distaste,  was  not  capable  of  enthusiasm  for  anything 
save  herself.  Selfishness,  the  bane  of  all  character, 
especially  of  woman's,  had  consumed  the  kindly  endow- 
ments of  her  nature,  and  sometimes,  when  her  lover's 
face  was  flushed  in  the  excitement  of  his  own  thronging 
thoughts,  which  were  at  least  large  and  generous,  if 
mainly  erratic,  there  would  come  a  crafty,  and  even 
vindictive,  gleam  into  her  eyes,  which  seemed  to  say, 
"  I  will  endure  with  such  patience  as  I  can,  until  the 
uniting  links  in  the  chain  are  forged,  and  then  you  must 
listen  to  me." 

If,  at  times,  her  manner  chilled  him,  and  he  imagined 
her  lacking  in  sympathy,  he  consoled  himself  by  the 
thought  that  she  did  not  yet  understand  these  great 
themes,  and  that  he  could  not  expect  her  to  reach  in  a 


38  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

few  weeks  the  advanced  views,  which,  in  his  case,  had 
required  years,  and  that,  too,  where  they  formed  the 
political  and  social  atmosphere  in  which  men  lived. 

As  for  Miss  Ashburton,  she  soon  perceived  what  she 
regarded  the  weak  point  in  his  character — the  one  that 
would  give  her  the  advantage  in  the  inevitable  conflict 
that  must  come  after  marriage  ;  and  that  was  his  loyalty 
to  his  word — a  scrupulous,  generous,  though  perverted 
sense  of  honor.  He  was  a  true  gentleman,  after  the 
fashionable  French  ideal,  and  not  according  to  the 
French  reality.  It  was  a  sad  fact,  that  in  that  debauched 
and  chaotic  age,  the  ninth  commandment,  and,  indeed, 
every  other  in  the  Decalogue,  rested  as  lightly  on  the 
French  conscience  as  the  seventh.  Of  course  there 
were  many  honorable  exceptions,  and  to  these  Saville 
belonged. 

Therefore,  when  in  due  time  he  poured  out  his  passion, 
she  was  full  of  demure  hesitancy  and  doubt.  "  Would 
he  be  faithful  to  her?  "  she  asked.  "  He  had  lived  too 
long  in  Paris,  where  men's  eyes  and  fancies  were  given 
too  great  freedom.  He  believed  in  such  new  and  strange 
French  doctrines,  which  seemed  to  unsettle  everything, 
even  religion,  and  was  captivated  by  French  ideas  in 
general.  How  could  she  be  sure  that  she  had  secured  a 
steady,  loyal,  English  husband?" 

In  view  of  Saville's  theories  and  rhapsodies  she  might 
perhaps  have  urged  these  objections  with  some  reason. 
But  the  astute  maiden  had  no  fears  on  these  grounds. 
She  was  skilfully  playing  part  of  a  prearranged  game. 
She  would  bind  him  by  many  and  varied  pledges.  She 
would  keep  him. from  the  course  on  which  his  heart 
was  bent,  by  promises  that  now  seemed  silken  cords 
of  love  and  loyalty,  but  would  afterwards  prove  galling 
fetters  by  which  she  would  hold  him  captive  ander  a 
merciless  tyranny. 

Unsuspicious  of  her  object,  he  gave  her  pledges  in- 


"FOR   WORSE"  39 

numerable,  which  could  readily  be  made  to  bear  the 
meaning  she  designed,  but  which  in  his  mind  had  -no 
such  purport.  Having  ensnared  and  woven  a  web 
around  her  victim,  she  gracefully  permitted  herself  to  be 
won. 

It  was  a  rude  awakening  that  Saville  had  from  his  de- 
lirium of  love,  and  dream  of  inspiring  sympathy  in  his 
career  as  an  apostle  of  the  broadest  liberty,  wherein  all 
kings,  human  and  divine,  were  to  be  overthrown.  His 
wife  had  been  under  restraint  too  long  already  for  one  of 
her  wilful,  self-pleasing  nature,  and  she  threw  off  the 
mask  with  unseemly  haste.  To  his  dismay  he  found  that 
he  had  married  a  pretty  bigot,  who  would  not  hear  a 
word  against  church  or  state,  the  venerable  abuses  of 
which  were  even  dearer  to  her  than  their  excellencies. 
Nay,  more,  she  told  him  that  by  all  his  oaths  of  loyalty 
to  her  he  was  bound  to  the  Tory  side,  which  was  then 
rapidly  becoming  defined  in  distinction  from  the  Whig, 
or  patriot  party  ;  and  such  was  the  ingenuity  of  her 
feminine  tact,  that  in  his  bewilderment  he  half  feared 
that  she  was  right  ;  and  that  he,  like  the  Hebrew  slaves, 
would  be  compelled  to  build  the  structures  he  would 
gladly  tear  down. 

At  first,  he  chafed  like  a  lion  in  the  toils  ;  but  on  every 
side  she  met  him  with  the  meshes  of  his  own  unwary 
promises.  In  vain  he  protested  that  loyalty  to  her  did 
not  involve  loyalty  to  institutions  that  he  hated. 

"  I  am  identified  with  these  causes,"  she  would  coolly 
reply. 

By  this  chain  of  loyalty  to  her,  she  would  even  drag 
him  to  church,  and  made  religion  seem  tenfold  more  hate- 
ful by  the  farce  she  there  enacted.  His  eyes  were  now 
opened,  and  he  readily  saw  that  she  was  a  bigot  to  the 
forms  of  worship,  and  that  the  doctrines  of  her  church 
were  neither  understood  nor  considered.  Her  spirit  was 
that  of  the  Italian  bandit,  who  will  shed  his  own  blood 


40  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

to  carry  out  the  purposes  of  his  priest,  and  the  blood 
of  any  one  else  that  his  interest  or  revenge  may  require. 

Thus  the  wretched  months  dragged  on,  and  Saville  was 
a  moody  captive.  As  the  stirring  events  thickened  which 
prepared  the  way  for  the  overt  acts  of  the  Revolution,  he 
was  often  greatly  excited,  and  inclined  to  break  his  fet- 
ters ;  but  he  was  ever  confronted  by  a  will  more  resolute 
than  his  own. 

"To  whom  do  you  owe  the  more  sacred  duty," 
she  would  ask  ;  "  this  wretched  cabal  of  blatant  rebels 
who  will  find  halters  around  their  necks  if  they  go  much 
further,  or  your  wife  to  whom  you  have  pledged  your 
honor  ?  " 

His  young  friends  in  the  patriot  ranks  were  greatly  dis- 
appointed in  him.  Before  marriage,  his  utterances  had 
been  pronounced  and  radical ;  now  he  was  silent  and 
kept  himself  aloof. 

There  were  many  sneers  about  the  "apron-strings  of 
a  Tory  wife,"  and  the  "difference  between  large  swell- 
ing words  and  the  giving  and  taking  of  honest  blows." 
Some  of  these  flings  reached  Saville,  and  stung  him  al- 
most to  frenzy. 

Of  course  anything  like  love  or  even  passion  died  out 
between  these  two,  whom  relatives  had  so  complacently 
matched,  but  who  never  could  be  mated. 

At  first,  Saville  often  appealed  to  her,  earnestly  and 
even  passionately,  to  be  a  wife  in  reality,  and  not  to 
thwart  every  hope  and  aspiration  of  his  life. 

She  would  exasperate  him  by  coolly  replying,  "  Only 
as  I  check  and  thwart  your  wild  fancies  and  mad  action 
can  I  be  a  true  wife.  Can't  you  see  that  you  are  bent 
on  ruining  us  both  ?  Your  mind  is  full  of  monstrous 
innovations.  It  is  as  if  you  should  say  in  the  dead  of 
winter,  I  have  a  vague  plan  of  a  better  home  than  this. 
Let  me  tear  down  our  house,  and  I  will  build  something 
different.  Not  while  I  keep  my  senses.  What  would 


"FOR  WORSE11  41 

our  property  be  worth  under  the  '  nouvelle  ordre '  as  you 
call  it?" 

"  But,  madam,  you  do  not  consider  me  at  all,  but  only 
the  property.  Am  I  to  have  no  other  career  than  that  of 
a  steward  of  our  joint  estates  ?  " 

"That  is  better  than  a  rebel's  halter.  But  let  us  end 
this  useless  discussion.  You  are  a  man  of  honor,  and 
your  word  is  pledged." 

The  tidings  of  the  battle  of  Lexington  almost  brought 
things  to  a  crisis,  and  resulted  in  a  stormy  scene  be- 
tween husband  and  wife.  His  passion  and  invective 
were  so  terrible  as  to  alarm  even  her  for  a  time.  And 
yet  it  only  served  to  intensify  the  settled  obstinacy 
of  her  nature.  It  also  greatly  increased  a  growing  dis- 
like for  him,  which  needed  only  time  to  develop  into 
hatred. 

At  the  close  of  this  memorable  interview,  she  said 
harshly, 

"  I  have  endured  this  folly  long  enough.  You  must 
either  give  up  this  madness  wholly  and  utterly,  or  else 
trample  upon  your  honor  and  duty,  and  proclaim  your- 
self a  perjured  villain.  The  day  you  join  the  rebel  crew, 
you  desert  your  wife  ;  and  I  will  never  so  much  as  touch 
your  hand  again." 

"  Do  you  mean  that?  "  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"  The  God  you  dare  to  despise  is  my  witness.     I  do." 

"  Pitiful  are  the  gods  which  attract  such  worshipers," 
he  sneered,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  he  left  her. 

He  now  saw  that  the  crisis  had  indeed  come.  He 
had  learned  to  know  his  wife  sufficiently  well  to  be  aware 
that  neither  appeals  nor  circumstances  could  change  her 
views  and  actions.  She  formed  her  opinions  and  pur- 
poses solely  on  the  grounds  of  her  own  prejudices  and 
wishes  ;  and  a  nature  without  generous  impulses  made  her 
coldly  obstinate  in  their  maintenance. 

And  now  what  should  he  do?    The  epithet  "perjured 


42  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

villain  ' '  stood  in  the  path  to  patriotic  action,  like  a  grisly 
spectre,  for  perjured  he  knew  that  she  would  make  him 
appear  to  her  family. 

If  his  own  interests  only  were  involved,  he  would  not 
have  had  a  moment's  hesitancy.  But  was  it  right  to  risk 
his  property  and  life  in  rebellion,  and  perhaps  bring  his 
mother  to  poverty  and  danger  in  her  old  age  ?  For  she, 
too,  by  many  an  eloquent  appeal  assured  him  that  he 
would  be  false  to  the  sacred  duties  which  he  owed  her  in 
her  widowhood  ;  and  by  the  whole  force  of  the  filial 
bond,  sought  to  chain  his  generous  nature  to  inaction. 
He  was  thus  torn  by  contending  emotions,  and  tortured 
by  conflicting  claims.  His  cheeks  grew  wan,  and  his  face 
haggard,  in  as  cruel  a  captivity  as  ever  man  endured. 
But  both  mother  and  wife  looked  on  unsympathetically. 
They  were  in  the  most  aggravating  condition  of  mind 
towards  the  sufferer,  complacently  sure  that  they  were 
right  and  he  wrong  ;  that  they  were  acting  for  his  best 
good,  and  that  he,  like  a  rash,  foolish  child,  must  be  held 
in  steady  restraint  until  he  should  pass  beyond  the  folly 
of  his  youth.  Their  treatment  was  as  humiliating  as  it 
was  galling. 

And  yet  he  did  not  know  what  was  right,  for  he  had  no 
true  moral  standard.  He  had  cast  away  that  book  of 
divine  ethics,  which  clearly  defines  the  relative  force  of 
each  claim  upon  the  conscience,  and  which,  in  an 
emergency  like  this,  calmly  lifts  a  man  up  to  the  sacrifice 
of  himself  and  every  earthly  tie,  that  God  may  be  honored, 
and  humanity  at  large  served. 

But,  in  his  creed,  as  we  have  seen,  man  was  his  own 
law;  and  while  his  heart  said,  "Join  the  cause  of  free- 
dom," a  perverted  sense  of  honor  said,  "  No,  your  word 
has  made  you  the  slave  of  your  wife's  bigotry,  and  your 
mother's  fears." 

In  vain  he  appealed  to  his  mother,  telling  her  how 
patriotic  ladies  in  the  city  were  urging  their  sons  to 


"FOE  WORSE11  43 

heroic  action,  and  teaching  even  their  little  children  the 
alphabet  of  liberty.  She  would  only  weep  and  prophesy 
dismally. 

"  When  these  mothers  see  their  sons  brought  home 
mangled  corpses,  and  their  pleasant  homes  burned,  and 
their  children  turned  adrift  upon  the  heartless  world,  they 
will  shed  tears  of  blood  over  their  folly.  I  love  you  too 
well  to  permit  you  to  rush  to  your  own  destruction  as 
truly  as  to  mine." 

She  always  assumed  that  it  would  be  impossible  for 
him  to  go  without  her  permission. 

His  bitter  reply  at  last  became,  "  Your  love  will  be  my 
death  by  slow  torture." 

"  Nonsense,  my  child,"  the  old  lady  answered,  almost 
petulantly.  "You  will  soon  see  the  day  when  you  will 
thank  me  from  the  bottom  of  your  heart  for  having  kept 
you  out  of  this  wretched  broil,  which  will  ruin  all  who 
engage  in  it." 

Thus  there  was  not  even  sympathy  for  him  at  home, 
but  only  a  riveting  of  the  fetters  which  were  eating  into 
his  very  soul.  So  he  came  to  indulge  in  long  and  lonely 
expeditions,  by  which  he  sought  to  escape,  in  some  de- 
gree, the  painful  conditions  of  his  city  life. 


CHAPTER  V 
WASHINGTON'S  SERMON 

THE  explanatory  digression  of  the  two  previous  chapters 
left  Saville  returning  from  one  of  these  flights  from  the 
tormenting  difficulties  of  his  position.  In  due  time  he 
approached  his  native  city,  passing  for  miles  along  rugged 
and  heavily  wooded  shores,  that  now  are  occupied  by 
spacious  warehouses,  and  wharves  crowded  with  the 
commerce  of  the  world. 

By  the  time  he  reached  a  point  opposite  where  Canal 
Street  now  ends  at  the  North  River,  his  attention  was 
drawn  to  a  large  flotilla,  just  leaving  the  Jersey  shore. 
Remembering  that  it  was  Sunday  afternoon,  he  was  still 
more  surprised  to  find  that  on  grounds  adjoining  his  own 
estate,  near  the  foot  of  Murray  Street  of  our  day,  an 
immense  concourse  of  people  were  assembled.  His  boat 
soon  reached  his  private  quay,  where  he  found  his  body- 
servant,  who  had  come  down  to  the  shore,  with  thousands 
of  others,  to  witness  some  great  event. 

His  master's  face  was  sufficient  interrogation  to  gar- 
rulous Larry,  and  he  at  once  launched  forth. 

"Glad  ter  see  yer  honor.  Yer  jist  in  time.  Faix, 
sure,  there's  great  doin's  on  foot.  The  rebels,  as  yer 
leddy  calls  'em,  are  gittin'  bold  as  lions,  an'  will  eat  us 
up  if  we  don't  jine  the  bastes.  I'm  half  a  mind  to  turn 
rebel  meself." 

"  Stop  your  nonsense,  Larry.  Who  are  those  coming 
yonder  across  the  river,  and  what  does  this  concourse 
mean?" 

"  It  manes  more  than  I  can  tell  ye  in  a  breath,  yer 
honor.  But  that's  Gin'ral  Washington  himself  that's  a 


WASHINGTON'S  SERMON  46 

comin'  there,  and  the  rebels  have  knocked  bloody  blazes 
out  of  the  red-coats  in  Bosting." 

These  tidings  were  sufficient  to  arouse  Saville's  ardent 
spirit  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement.  Mingling  with 
the  throng  at  the  spot  near  which  the  disembarkation 
must  occur,  he  met  an  acquaintance  from  whom  he  ob- 
tained a  more  satisfactory,  if  not  succinct,  explanation 
of  what  he  saw. 

The  battle  of  Bunker  Hill  had  been  fought,  and  be- 
hind a  slight  breast-work  constructed  by  a  few  hours' 
labor,  his  countrymen  had  met  and  thrice  repulsed 
the  veterans  of  Europe.  In  the  torrent  of  blood  which 
flowed  that  day,  the  Revolution  had  become  a  fact  to 
which  men  could  close  their  eyes  no  longer.  The  time 
had  arrived  when  all  must  take  sides  ;  and  Saville  recog- 
nized the  truth  that  he  must  now  choose  with  which  party 
he  would  east  his  lot.  He  was  in  an  agony  of  conflicting 
feelings,  and  hoped  that  something  in  the  stirring  events 
of  the  hour  might  settle  the  question  which  he  felt 
scarcely  able  to  decide  himself. 

He  gained  a  standing  place  upon  a  projecting  rock  on 
the  beach,  from  which  he  had  a  good  view  both  of  the 
crowded  shore  and  the  approaching  flotilla,  and  his  en- 
thusiastic nature  kindled  momentarily  as  he  gazed  on 
the  scene. 

It  was  a  lovely  summer  afternoon.  The  sun  shone 
bright  but  not  too  warm,  and  gave  a  touch  of  beauty 
and  lightsomeness  even  to  things  prosaic  and  common- 
place in  themselves.  But  there  was  little  that  was  or- 
dinary on  this  occasion.  There,  facing  him  on  a 
sloping  bank,  was  such  a  throng  of  his  fellow  townsmen 
as  he  had  never  before  seen  together,  their  faces  aflame 
with  excitement.  Near  him  were  drawn  up  in  martial 
array  a  thousand  men  with  glittering  accoutrements, 
and  bayonets  whose  points  the  declining  sun  tipped  with 
fire. 


46  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

When  the  boats  approached  the  land,  even  the  heavy 
booming  of  the  cannon  was  drowned  by  that  most  awe- 
inspiring  sound  of  earth — the  shout  of  a  multitude, 
wherein  the  thought,  the  intense  feeling  and  resolute 
purpose  of  the  soul  finds  loud,  vehement  utterance.  It 
is  a  sound  that  stirs  the  most  sluggish  nature.  How 
then  would  the  spirit  of  one  be  moved  who,  like  Theron 
Saville,  believed  that  the  voice  of  the  people  was  the 
voice  of  God  ?  He  did  not  shout  with  the  others.  His 
excitement  was  too  deep  for  noisy  vent,  but  his  face 
grew  stern,  and  his  lips  compressed  with  his  forming 
purpose.  He  was  growing  desperate,  and  \vas  passing 
into  a  mood  in  which  he  was  ready  to  trample  every  tie 
and  extorted  pledge  under  foot  that  he  might  join  what 
he  believed  would  prove  a  crusade  against  all  tyrants, 
temporal  and  spiritual. 

But  his  chief  desire  now  was  to  look  into  the  face  of 
Washington,  of  whom  he  had  heard  so  often,  and  who 
had  even  now  gained  much  of  that  remarkable  influence 
which  he  was  destined  to  possess  over  the  young  men  of 
the  country.  His  rural  and  hunting  tastes,  his  romantic, 
military  experience  on  the  frontier,  and  his  reputation  for 
the  most  daring  courage,  had  already  made  him  a  hero 
in  a  new  country  where  such  qualities  would  be  most  ap- 
preciated. But  to  Saville,  he  was  more  than  a  hero, 
more  than  a  patriot  and  chivalrous  soldier  :  he  was  a 
forerunner  and  inaugurator  of  the  golden  age  of  liberty 
and  equality,  which  his  fancy  portrayed  in  the  near 
future.  Groaning  himself  under  the  thraldom  of  the  old 
and  hated  regime,  he  regarded  the  coming  commander- 
in-chief  as  a  captive  in  hard  bondage  might  welcome  a 
deliverer.  He  expected  to  see  a  face  that  was  a  revolu- 
tion in  itself,  eager,  fiery,  kindling  others  into  flame  by 
its  intense  expression. 

But,  when  a  tall  and  stately  man  in  the  prow  of  the 
foremost  batteau  uncovered,  as  he  drew  near  the  shore.. 


WASHINGTON'S  SERMON  47 

in  acknowledgment  of  the  resounding  acclamations,  he 
was  at  first  disappointed.  He  was  not  looking  on  the 
bold,  defiant  features  of  an  innovator.  There  was 
scarcely  a  trace  even  on  that  calm,  noble  face,  of  the 
enthusiasm  that  was  burning  like  a  flame  in  his  own 
heart. 

Wherein  lay  the  man's  greatness  and  power?  In  his 
eagerness  to  see  more  nearly  the  one  he  now  felt  would 
largely  shape  his  own  destiny,  as  well  as  that  of  others, 
he  sprang  down  the  rock,  and  unconsciously  stood  in  the 
shallow  water.  Washington  noted  his  eager  action,  and 
turned  his  face  full  upon  him  with  a  kindly  look  and  half- 
inclination,  while  Saville  removed  his  hat  at  once. 

As  Washington  again  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  waiting 
thousands,  the  young  man  scanned  his  face  as  if  he 
would  there  read  his  own  fate.  Here  was  a  man  who 
had  larger  wealth  and  higher  social  position  than  himself, 
and  yet  he  had  joined  his  fortunes  to  a  cause  which  Sa- 
ville's  relatives  characterized  as  both  desperate  and  dis- 
reputable. Here  was  the  man  towards  whom  the  national 
heart  instinctively  turned,  and  hailed  as  leader  and  chief. 
As  Washington  looked  to  God  for  guidance  and  help, 
Saville  looked  solely  to  man,  and  as  we  have  said  before, 
with  all  the  eagerness  which  the  hope  of  his  own  deliver- 
ance and  the  realization  of  his  dreams  could  inspire,  he 
scrutinized  the  face  before  him  to  gather  if  this  were  the 
coming  man  of  the  nouvelle  ordre. 

He  did  not  see  what  he  expected — the  embodied  prin- 
ciples of  the  French  iconoclasts  and  reckless  innovators, 
but  the  native  quickness  of  his  race  enabled  him  to  ap- 
prehend the  spirit  which  animated  Washington,  and 
which  found  expression  in  his  honest  face.  There  was 
no  elation,  no  appearance  of  gratified  pride,  which  such 
a  reception  would  have  evoked,  had  the  elements  of  per- 
sonal vanity  existed  largely  in  his  nature.  There  was  an 
absence  of  all  complacent  self-confidence  and  self-asser- 


48  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

tion,  and  yet  he  inspired  confidence,  and  more — some- 
thing of  his  own  heroic  and  patient  spirit  of  self-sacrifice 
in  behalf  of  a  sacred  cause.  His  face  wore  the  solemn 
aspect  of  one  who  felt  himself  charged  with  awful  re- 
sponsibilities. As  he  saw  the  thousands  turning  towards 
him  in  hope  and  trust,  the  burden  of  the  nation's  weal 
pressed  heavier  upon  him.  And  yet  there  was  not  a 
trace  of  weakness  or  shrinking  in  view  of  his  mighty 
tasks.  His  face  had  the  calm,  strong  expression  of  one 
who  had  counted  the  cost,  who  was  wholly  consecrated, 
and  who,  without  a  thought  of  self,  proposed  to  serve  a 
cause  in  which  he  fully  believed,  leaving  to  God  the  issue. 
Like  the  ancient  Hebrew  leader  who  climbed  Sinai's 
height  to  the  presence  of  God,  he  also  had  been  prepared 
above  the  clouds  to  lead  the  people  who  tarried  on  the 
plain  below. 

Though  Saville  could  not  understand  the  source  of 
Washington's  strength,  still  the  calm,  noble  face  quieted 
him.  Half  unconsciously  he  was  taught  the  difference 
between  mere  enthusiasm  and  personal  ambition,  and  a 
resolute  purpose  combined  with  unselfish  devotion.  He 
was  generous  and  noble  enough  himself  to  appreciate  the 
heroic  qualities  embodied  before  him,  and  to  be  won  to 
something  of  the  same  spirit  for  the  time  being.  Wash- 
ington's appearance  and  character  reconciled  Saville's 
heart  and  conscience,  which  had  long  been  at  variance, 
and  made  him  feel  with  the  certainty  of  intuition,  that  the 
cause  which  had  won  such  a  man  was  so  sacred,  that  he 
could  be  true  to  it,  and  at  the  same  time  true  to  every 
duty  he  owed  his  wife  and  mother. 

There  are  times  when  the  mind,  thoroughly  aroused, 
works  with  marvelous  rapidity  ;  and  the  few  moments 
that  intervened  between  the  near  approach  and  disem- 
barking, gave  that  face,  towards  which  so  many  were 
turning  for  inspiration,  time  to  preach  Saville  the  only 
sermon  which  he  had  ever  heeded.  The  most  effective 


WASHINGTON'S  SERMON  49 

sermons,  after  all,  are  those  which  are  embodied.  The 
Word  of  God  was  a  living  person — a  Divine  Man. 

He  who  had  been  harassed  so  long  by  conflicting 
claims,  hesitated  no  longer.  With  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
man  that,  in  his  humanitarian  creed,  he  was  ready  to 
worship,  he  said  in  the  low,  deep  tone  of  resolve  — 

"  His  cause  is  mine  from  this  hour  forth.  Liberty, 
equality,  or  death." 

Washington  had  landed,  and  Saville  was  possessed 
with  a  desire  to  hear  him  speak,  and  so  pressed  towards 
him  with  many  others.  General  Schuyler,  who  stood  at 
his  chief's  side,  had  noticed  the  eager  and  interested  air 
of  the  young  man.  He  knew  Saville  slightly,  and  the 
thought  occurred  to  him  that  it  might  be  a  good  oppor- 
tunity to  secure  the  adherence  of  one  who  had  thus  far 
stood  aloof,  but  whose  wealth  and  talents  would  be  a 
welcome  addition  to  the  cause.  He  spoke  in  a  low  tone 
to  Washington,  and  then  stepping  up  to  Saville,  said, 

"  Let  me  present  you  to  his  Excellency,  with  others  of 
your  fellow-citizens." 

Before  Saville  could  realize  it,  the  man  he  adored  had 
taken  him  by  the  hand,  saying, 

"  Mr.  Saville,  I  hope  you  are  with  us  in  this  good 
cause." 

With  deep  emotion,  Saville  replied, 

"  I  am  with  you  in  any  service — the  humblest — which 
your  Excellency  may  require." 

"  Rest  assured,"  said  Washington,  kindly,  "  that  it  will 
be  honorable  service,  for  which  your  country  will  reward 
you." 

The  young  man  stepped  back,  more  proud  and  pleased 
than  if  he  had  been  decorated  by  all  the  sovereigns  of 
Europe. 

The  procession  was  now  commencing  to  form.  Saville 
pushed  his  way  out  of  the  throng  to  where  Larry  was 
gaping  at  the  strange  sights,  and  called, 


50  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Bring  me  my  horse,  saddled,  within  five  minutes." 

"  Och,  by  the  holy  poker,"  gasped  Larry,  as  he  ran  to 
obey  the  order,  "  the  maister  is  a  goin'  to  turn  rebel. 
Thin  I'll  be  a  rebel,  too  ;  for  there's  nary  a  man  of 'em 
all  that  can  fight  ould  England  wid  a  better  stomach 
than  meself.  Didn't  she  take  the  last  praty  out  of  me 
bin  at  home?  " 

A  little  later,  Saville,  mounted  on  his  favorite  horse, 
took  a  flying  leap  over  his  garden  wall,  and  joined  the 
cavalcade  of  leading  citizens  who  were  to  escort  the 
Commander-in-chief  down  Broadway  ;  while  Larry  fol- 
lowed with  the  populace  on  foot,  chaffing  right  and  left 
to  the  amusement  of  many  listeners. 

At  length  the  pageantry  was  over,  and  in  the  purple 
twilight  Saville  sought  his  home.  Everything  in  nature 
that  Sabbath  evening  breathed  of  peace  and  tenderness, 
but  he  justly  feared  that  a  scene  of  bitter  and  unrelenting 
hostility  was  awaiting  him.  The  coming  battles  in  which 
he  would  take  part,  would  never  require  the  nerve  and 
self-control  that  he  must  maintain  this  quiet  June  evening, 
and  in  his  own  home. 

In  his  exalted  and  generous  mood,  he  determined  to 
make  one  more  appeal  before  the  final  separation  with 
his  wife  took  place.  But  meeting  her  on  the  piazza,  he 
saw  by  a  glance  that  it  would  be  a  vain  and  humiliating 
waste  of  words. 

Her  features  were  inflamed  with  passion,  and  upon  her 
full  lower  face  rested  the  very  impress  of  wilful  stubborn- 
ness. She  had  evidently  heard  of  his  action  during  the 
afternoon,  and  surmised  the  result.  Having  never  been 
thwarted  in  her  life,  she  now  hated  the  man  whose  course 
and  motives  were  so  utterly  repugnant  to  her. 

She  stood  in  the  doorway,  dressed  for  walking,  and, 
not  waiting  for  him  to  speak,  said  harshly  : 

"  Well,  sir,  in  a  word,  what  is  your  decision  ?  " 

"  I  have  decided  that  I  am  a  free  man  and  a  patriot." 


WASHINGTON'S  SERMON  51 

"  A  rebel  and  a  perjurer,  you  mean." 

"That  is  your  unjust  version,  madam,"  he  replied 
quietly,  for  Washington's  calm,  strong  face  was  before 
him. 

Her  features  grew  fairly  livid,  but  she  was  about  to 
pass  out  without  a  word. 

"Julia!"  he  exclaimed,  intercepting  her,  "listen  for 
one  moment  before  you  take  this  rash,  irrevocable  step. 
If  I  am  true  to  the  sacred  cause  of  Liberty,  I  can  be  true 
to  you.  I " 

"  Stand  aside!  "  she  cried,  imperiously  stamping  her 
foot.  "  I  will  not  hear  one  word  of  your  idiotic  drivel. 
The  idea  of  you  being  true  to  anything,  who  break  pledges 
made  at  God's  altar,  and  cast  off  your  wife  to  join  a  herd 
of  ragged,  blaspheming  rebels  ;  I  shall  never  darken 
your  doors  again." 

11  Well-chosen  phrase,  madam.  You  have  indeed  dark- 
ened my  door,  and  darkened  my  life.  But  farewell :  I 
will  not  reproach  you.  I  will  be  loyal  to  the  name  of 
wife  :  the  reality  I  never  had." 

She  deigned  no  reply,  but  passed  down  the  path  that 
led  to  the  adjoining  residence  of  her  parents,  with  such 
hot  wrath  in  her  heart  that  it  was  strange  the  roses  did 
not  wither  as  she  passed. 

Saville  breathed  more  freely  after  she  was  gone.  It 
seemed  as  if  a  deadly  nicubus  had  been  lifted  from 
him. 

But  he  soon  found  that  the  meeting  with  his  mother 
would  be  a  far  severer  ordeal.  When  he  entered  her 
room,  and  saw  her,  who  was  usually  so  stately  and  com- 
posed, utterly  broken  down,  rocking  back  and  forth  as  if 
in  mortal  agony,  with  her  gray  hair  hanging  in  disorder 
over  her  face,  he  felt  as  if  a  sword  had  pierced  him. 

"  Ruined  !  ruined  !  all  is  lost !  "  groaned  the  wretched 
woman. 

"Why   are  we  ruined,"   he  exclaimed  impetuously, 


62  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART       , 

"  more  than  thousands  of  families  who  have  joined  the 
patriotic  cause? " 

"  We  shall  soon  be  homeless  and  penniless." 

"  No,  mother,  not  at  all.  I  shall  have  it  distinctly 
known  that  you  still  adhere  to  the  ci-own.  I  will  put  all 
the  property  in  your  name,  and  content  myself  with  a 
soldier's  fare." 

"  And  I  shall  then  be  childless  and  alone  in  the  world !  " 
she  continued  in  the  same  despairing  tone. 

"  Oh,  cease,  mother  ;  you  may  break  my  heart,  but 
you  cannot  change  my  purpose.  My  word  is  pledged  to 
Washington  and  Liberty." 

"It  has  been  pledged  before,"  was  the  reproachful 
reply. 

"  No  !  "  said  the  young  man  sternly  ;  "  do  not  charge 
me  with  dishonor.  I  can  endure  that  from  the  woman  to 
whom  the  miserable  haphazard  chance  of  this  world  and 
priest-craft  temporarily  joined  me,  but  not  from  you.  I 
never  deliberately  and  consciously  made  a  pledge  against 
my  present  course  ;  and  to-day  I  have  seen  a  man  who 
has  taught  me  how  I  can  be  true  to  you,  and  at  the  same 
.  time  true  to  Liberty.  You  say,  '-my  child,' — do  you  not 
realize  that  I  am  a  man,  who  must  be  guided  by  his  own 
independent  will  or  be  despised  by  all  ?  I  have  chosen 
my  lot." 

With  these  decisive  words,  Saville  retired  to  his  room, 
that  he  might  regain  his  calmness  and  form  some  plans 
for  the  future. 

Among  his  first  acts  during  the  next  few  weeks  was  the 
transfer  of  a  large  sum  of  money  to  Paris,  subject  to  his 
own  or  his  mother's  order.  Having  thus  cast  an  anchor 
to  the  windward,  he  felt  that  he  had 'done  much  to  pro- 
vide against  the  vicissitudes  of  that  stormy  period,  and 
thus  could  give  his  thoughts  more  fully  to  the  stirring 
work  of  the  hour.  He  explained  his  situation,  as  far  as 
a  scrupulous  delicacy  would  permit,  to  Captain  Sears, 


WASHINGTON'S  SERMON  53 

more  generally  known  by  the  sobriquet  of  "  King  "  Sears, 
and  told  this  recognized  leader  of  the  populace  in  all 
daring  revolutionary  acts,  that  after  the  few  weeks  re- 
quired to  settle  his  affairs  and  provide  for  his  mother,  he 
would  be  ready  to  enter  the  regular  service,  and  that,  in 
the  meantime,  if  any  enterprise  were  on  foot,  he  could 
be  depended  upon  at  any  moment.  His  young  Whig 
acquaintances  had  no  further  cause  to  complain  of  his 
absence  from  their  councils,  or  of  a  disposition  to  shrink 
from  "  honest  blows"  if  any  were  to  be  received.  He 
found  a  congenial  spirit  in  a  fiery  young  student  of  King's 
College,  whom  his  companions  nick-named  "  the  Little 
Giant,"  but  who  is  now  known  to  the  world  as  Alexander 
Hamilton ;  and  the  two  young  rebels  plotted  treason 
enough,  in  Tory  estimation,  to  satisfy  the  shade  of  Guy 
Fawkes,  and  were  quite  as  ready  to  blow  up  Parliament 
and  all  other  anciently  constituted  authorities. 

Mrs.  Saville's  manner  was  for  a  time  that  of  cold  and 
stony  despair,  and  considering  her  views  and  feelings,  it 
was  more  real  than  assumed.  But  beneath  the  thick 
crust  of  her  worldliness  and  conservatism,  there  was  a 
warm,  motherly  heart,  which  soon  began  to  yearn  towards 
her  only  son,  who,  she  now  feared,  might  any  day  be  lost 
to  her  forever.  Her  coldness  soon  gave  place  to  a  cling- 
ing tenderness,  which  she  had  never  before  manifested, 
and  which  made  it  a  hundredfold  harder  for  her  son  to 
carry  out  the  steadfast  purpose  which  the  expression  of 
Washington's  face  had  inspired.  Morever,  such  are  the 
contradictions  of  woman's  heart,  she  secretly  admired 
her  handsome  son,  in  his  buff  and  blue  uniform,  and  re- 
spected him  far  more  than  if  he  had  been  content  to  re- 
main merely  the  steward  of  the  large  joint  estates  which 
her  thrifty  scheming  had  united. 

Both  pride  and  indifference  prevented  Saville  from 
making  advances  towards  his  wife,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing in  her  nature  that  would  prompt  to  any  relenting. 


54  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

On  the  contrary,  as  her  husband's  outspoken  republi- 
canism and  skepticism  were  bruited  through  the  city,  her 
hatred  grew  more  intense  and  vindictive.  Not  only  was 
his  opposition  to  church  and  state  most  offensive,  but  the 
fact  that  he  could  break  her  chains  and  ignore  her  ex- 
istence was  humiliating,  and  taught  the  spoiled  beauty, 
for  the  first  time,  that  her  despotic  will  could  be  disre- 
garded. Nothing  so  exasperates  some  natures  as  to  be 
first  thwarted,  and  then  severely  let  alone. 

He  scrupulously  re-transferred  her  dower  and  every 
vestige  of  property  to  which  she  had  the  slightest  claim  ; 
and  she,  in  impotent  spite,  refused  to  be  known  any 
longer  by  his  name  ;  but  the  irrevocable  marriage  vows 
had  been  spoken,  and  this  past  act  of  folly,  like  a  hidden 
rock  had  seemingly  wrecked  the  happiness  of  both. 
They  might  hate  each  other,  but  they  were  forbidden  to 
love  any  one  else. 


CHAPTER  VI 

"A   SCENE   AT   BLACK   SAM'S  " 

ON  the  evening  of  the  23d  of  August,  1775,  a  large 
mansion  standing  at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Dock 
(now  Pearl)  Street,  appeared  to  be  the  centre  of  unusual 
excitement,  even  at  that  time  of  general  ferment.  The 
place  was  well-known  as  the  down-town  tavern  of  Samuel 
Fraunces,  who,  from  the  swarthiness  of  his  complexion, 
went  by  the  sobriquet  of  "  Black  Sam."  This  tap-room 
and  restaurant  was  a  general  resort,  not  only  because 
Fraunces  was  the  Delmonico  of  that  day,  and  could 
serve  a  dinner  and  cater  in  wines  better  than  any  other 
man  in  the  city,  but  also  because  Sam's  patriotism  ef- 
fervesced as  readily  as  his  champagne  or  strong  beer  ; 
and,  it  may  be  added,  for  the  reason  that  they  were  often 
served  by  his  pretty,  black-eyed  daughter,  Phoebe 
Fraunces.  To  her,  perhaps,  in  the  following  year, 
Washington  owed  his  life,  since  she  was  able,  through 
the  confidence  given  her  by  a  lover  who  was  one  of 
Washington's  body-guard,  to  penetrate  a  Tory  plot  to 
destroy  the  dread  commander-in-chief  by  poison.  True- 
hearted  Phoebe  was  not  to  be  won  by  a  lover  who  pro- 
posed to  administer  such  potions,  so,  having  smilingly 
beguiled  from  him  his  secret,  she  furnished  him  with  an- 
other noose  than  that  of  Hymen's  make,  and  donning  her 
brightest  petticoat,  went  cheerfully  to  his  hanging. 

But  upon  this  memorable  occasion,  she  was  the  em- 
bodiment of  exuberant  health  and  spirits,  and  seemed  as 
sparkling  as  the  wines  she  brought  to  the  guests  that 
thronged  this  favorite  haunt  of  the  city.  It  was  warm, 
and  her  round,  stout  arms  were  bare,  and  her  swelling 


56  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

throat  and  bosom  snowy  white,  while  her  eyes  were  black 
as  coals.  But  while  she  was  coquettish  and  piquant, 
there  was  nothing  pert  or  bold  in  her  manner,  and  he  was 
either  drunk  or  brutish  who  gave  her  a  wanton  word  the 
second  time.  In  her  ready  tongue  she  carried  a  keener 
weapon  than  the  swords  that  dangled  and  clattered  at  the 
sides  of  the  incipient  warriors  on  whom  she  waited  ;  and 
when  provoked  she  gave  thrusts  which  brought  the  hot 
blood  at  least  to  their  faces.  But  while  she  inspired  a 
wholesome  respect,  she  was  generally  bubbling  over 
with  good  humor  and  arch  repartee,  and  so  was  a  general 
favorite.  Her  mercurial  nature  readily  caught  the  spirit 
of  the  hour,  and  to-night  her  dark  eyes  were  ablaze  with 
excitement,  and  her  white  teeth,  which  frequent  smiles 
displayed,  and  her  white  neck  and  arms,  gave  to  her 
quick  movements  a  glancing,  scintillating  effect.  As  she 
flitted  here  and  there  among  the  noisy  patriots,  many  an 
eager  sentence  was  suspended  and  but  lamely  finished, 
as  the  speaker's  eyes  followed  her  admiringly. 

Little  wonder  that  she  was  the  blooming  Hebe  of  this 
bacchanalian  Elysium,  for  the  majority  habitually  craved 
the  boon  of  drinking  to  her  health.  She  would  graciously 
comply,  and  then  chuckle  with  her  father  over  the  coins 
resulting,  when,  at  the  late  hour  (at  that  primitive  time) 
of  ten  at  night,  they  counted  the  gains  of  the  day.  It  is 
to  such  places  that  men  resort  who  appear  to  value  public 
and  purchased  smiles  from  those  who  sell  to  all  alike, 
more  than  similar  glances  from  wives  and  children, 
which  they  rarely  seek  to  win,  and  more  rarely  deserve. 
Phoebe  was  not  above  reaping  this  harvest  from  fools  ; 
but  she  did  it  so  fascinatingly  that  they  felt  well  repaid. 

Black  Sam,  broad  and  swarthy,  stood  behind  his  bar, 
controlling  and  directing  his  large  establishment  from 
this  central  point  like  a  captain  on  the  deck  of  his  ship. 
His  eyes  were  a  trifle  duller  than  Phoebe's,  and  indicated 
that  he  indulged  occasionally  in  more  than  the  sips  of  a 


"  A  SCENE  A T  BLACK  SAM'S »  57 

connoisseur.  But  to-night  they  glanced  rapidly  and 
shrewdly  around,  seeing  that  his  daughter  and  her  as- 
sistants neglected  no  one  ;  and  he  found  time,  in  the 
meanwhile,  to  add  a  word  in  his  heavy  bass  to  the 
various  pronounced  political  discussions  and  utterances 
going  on  around  him.  It  was  very  evident  that  Sam  and 
his  patrons  had  little  reverence  for  the  "  divinity  which 
doth  hedge  a  king,"  and  these  quasi  subjects  of  George 
III  spoke  of  him  with  a  refreshing  candor  which  it 
would  have  been  well  for  him  to  have  heard,  for  it  might 
have  saved  a  world  of  trouble.  It  has  ever  been  the 
chief  misfortune  of  potentates  that  they  are  surrounded 
by  a  dead  wall  of  courtiers  that  excludes  every  rude  but 
warning  sound. 

Phoebe's  excitable  temperament  correctly  interpreted 
the  occasion.  There  was  something  abroad  in  the  air 
which  charged  the  summer  night  with  subtle  and  electri- 
fying power.  Though  many  were  evidently  in  ignorance, 
it  was  noted  that  Fraunces  exchanged  significant  glances 
with  several  present,  and  seemed  dilating  with  some  por- 
tentous secret.  His  suppressed  excitement  grew  more 
apparent,  as  his  rooms  filled  rapidly,  and  the  crowd  in- 
creased about  the  doors.  It  was  also  observed  that  all 
the  newcomers  were  armed,  and  that  among  the  rapidly 
appearing  faces  were  those  which,  like  beacon  fires, 
always  betokened  some  doughty  undertaking.  The  gen- 
eral stir  and  hoarse  murmur  of  voices  was  greatly  aug- 
mented when  Saville  entered  with  young  Hamilton,  fol- 
lowed by  fifteen  students  from  King's  College,  all  fully 
armed.  The  latter  were  soon  chaffing  with  Phoebe  as 
they  took  from  the  tray  she  brought  them,  glasses  brim- 
ming over  with  rich  Madeira,  for  which  the  tavern  was 
most  famous. 

"  With  father's  compliments, "'  said  Phoebe,  courtesying. 

Then,  boy-like,  they  proposed  three  cheers  for  the 
prince  of  caterers  and  the  fair  Hebe  who  had  borne 


58  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

them  the  nectar  which  he  alone  could  furnish  ;  and  they 
were  given  with  deafening  heartiness  and  glasses  raised 
aloft. 

They  were  scarcely  drained,  before  a  young  man, 
leaning  upon  the  bar,  and  who  was  more  noted  for  his 
drinking  powers  than  his  discretion,  cried, 

"  I  propose  another  toast — Saville,  who  is  doubly 
to  be  congratulated,  since  he  has  escaped  a  double 
bondage — that  of  King  George  and  also  of  his  Tory 
wife  ;  having  slipped  the  cable  of  her  apron-string  by 
which " 

Before  he  could  finish  his  sentence,  Saville's  fist  was 
planted  upon  his  mouth  with  such  force  as  to  send  him 
reeling  to  the  floor,  with  his  glass  clattering  after  him. 
Standing  over  the  prostrate  and  half-tipsy  man,  and 
trembling  with  rage,  Saville  said,  threateningly, 

"  The  man  who  dares  to  cast  a  slur  upon  my  wife  shall 
do  so  at  his  peril." 

There  was  the  usual  uproar  and  confused  sound  of 
conflicting  voices,  when  a  cry  arose  which  drowned  all 
else,  "  Sears,  Sears,  King  Sears,"  and  that  great  fire- 
brand of  the  American  Revolution,  whose  headlong  zeal 
and  courage  kindled  so  many  fires  of  contention  with  the 
royal  authorities,  stood  among  them. 

"  Come,  come,  comrades,"  he  cried,  "  no  need  of  in- 
terchanging blows  here  among  yourselves.  Come  with 
me,  and  I  will  give  you  a  crack  at  our  common  enemy. 
Colonel  Lamb,  with  his  artillerymen,  and  Captain  Lasher, 
with  his  company,  are  marching  down  Broadway  to  take 
the  guns  at  the  fort,  without  saying  so  much  as  '  by  your 
leave.'  Who  will  follow  me  to  their  aid  ?  " 

There  was  a  loud  acquiescing  shout,  while  Black  Sam 
sprang  over  his  bar,  crying, 

"Lead  on,  King  Sears,  and  the  man  who  refuses  to 
follow  may  choke  with  thirst  before  my  hand  serves  him 
again." 


"  A  SCENE  A  T  BLA  CK  SAM1 8 ' '  59 

In  Fraunces's  estimation,  this  was  the  direst  threat  he 
could  make,  and  in  fact,  to  many  present,  the  fulfilment 
would  be  like  cutting  off  the  springs  of  life. 

Hamilton  took  Saville's  arm,  saying, 

"  Come,  comrade,  fall  in.  What  do  the  maudlin 
words  of  that  drunken  fellow  signify  ?  Come,  you  know 
we've  grand  work  on  hand  to-night." 

In  a  few  brief  moments  the  crowded,  noisy  rooms  were 
deserted.  The  street  became  full  of  hoarse  shoutings,  and 
the  confused  sound  of  many  feet,  as  Sears,  Hamilton, 
and  other  extemporized  officers  marshaled  the  citizen- 
soldiery  in  something  like  orderly  array.  Then  from  the 
head  of  the  column  rang  out  those  stirring  words  which, 
though  causing  many  hearts  to  bound  with  hope  and 
thrill  with  grand  excitement,  have  yet  been  the  death- 
knell  of  myriads. 

"  Forward — march  !  ' 

With  strong  and  steady  tramp  the  dusky  figures 
receded  towards  Broadway,  while  Phoebe,  with  eyes 
ablaze,  stood  in  the  door  waving  a  farewell  with  her 
handkerchief,  its  flutter  meaning  anything  rather  than  a 
truce  with  King  George's  agents  of  oppression. 

Black  Sam's  buxom  wife  took  his  place  behind  the 
bar,  while  Phoebe  repaired  to  an  upper  window  that  she 
might  see  if  the  English  man-of-war  in  the  harbor  had 
anything  to  add  to  the  drama  of  the  evening.  The 
hitherto  thronged  hostelry  became  silent,  being  deserted 
by  all  save  a  few  old  men  whose  age  precluded  them 
from  taking  part  in  the  events  of  the  night.  It  was  an 
occasion  when  not  even  the  famous  Madeira  of  Sam's 
tavern  could  tempt  any  loyalists  thither  ;  and  such  of  the 
Whigs  as  were  too  prudent  to  join  the  raid,  skulked  away, 
much  preferring  to  face  a  dozen  English  batteries  than  to 
hear  the  comments  of  Phoabe  Fraunces  upon  their  dis- 
cretion. 

As  for  the  young  woman  nerself,  she  repined  bitterly 


60 

at  the  usages  of  society  which  prevented  her  from  taking 
hand  in  the  promised  m^lee,  and  was  half  inclined  to  don 
her  father's  habiliments,  and  be  a  man  in  spite  of 
fate. 


CHAPTER  VII 

NEW  YORK  UNDER  FIRE 

COLONEL  LAMB  and  Captain  Lasher  with  their  com- 
panies halted  on  Broadway  till  Sears  and  his  following  of 
citizens  joined  them  ;  then  they  proceeded  at  once  to 
Fort  George,  which  had  its  front  on  Bowling  Green,  and 
was  located  within  the  space  now  bounded  by  State, 
Bridge,  and  Whitehall  Streets.  Tory  informers  had 
revealed  to  the  authorities  in  charge  of  this  work  the  in- 
tended attack.  In  view  of  the  overwhelming  force,  no 
resistance  was  made  by  the  small  garrison.  Unmolested 
at  first,  the  patriots  went  to  work  with  feverish  zeal  to 
dismount  the  cannon  from  the  bastions,  and  load  them 
on  the  heavy  wagons  that  came  lumbering  down  Broad- 
way for  the  purpose. 

To  Alexander  Hamilton  and  his  party  was  given  the 
task  of  capturing  Grand  Battery,  another  and  smaller 
work  nearer  the  river,  which  was  also  accomplished  with- 
out resistance. 

But  the  fiery  young  spirits  composing  this  band  were 
much  disappointed  at  the  quiet  and  peaceful  nature  of  the 
enterprise  thus  far. 

"  We  might  as  well  have  come  armed  with  only 
pickaxes  and  crowbars,"  growled  Hamilton. 

"Yes,"  responded  Saville,  in  like  discontented  mood. 
"  A  brigade  of  carmen  was  all  that  was  required  on  this 
occasion.  I  had  hoped  that  the  night  would  be  enlivened 
by  a  few  flashes  at  least.  Suppose  we  go  down  to  the 
water's  edge  and  take  a  look  at  the  Asia." 

Securing  the  approval  of  their  superior  officers,  and 
leaving  a  guard  in  charge  of  the  work,  the  rest  of  the  party 


62  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

commenced  patrolling  the  shore,  casting  wistful  glances 
at  the  ship,  whose  masts  and  yards  were  faintly  outlined 
against  the  sky. 

"  Now,  if  we  had  only  a  dozen  whale-boats,"  said 
Hamilton,  "  and  could  go  out  and  board  that  old  tub, 
we  would  have  a  night's  work  that  would  stir  one's 
blood." 

"  Not  a  little  would  be  set  running,  no  doubt,"  replied 
Saville  ;  "and  it  would  not  all  be  on  our  side  either,  I 
imagine.  But  see,  they  are  waking  up  on  board.  We 
may  have  a  bout  with  those  water  dogs  yet." 

It  soon  became  clear  that  there  was  an  unusual  stir  and 
excitement  on  the  vessel.  Lights  gleamed  and  glanced 
rapidly  from  point  to  point,  and  faint  and  far  away  came 
the  sound  of  orders  hastily  given. 

Then  there  was  a  heavy  splash  in  the  water. 

"  Hurrah!  "  cried  Hamilton,  "they  are  manning  a 
boat.  We  will  resolve  ourselves  into  a  committee  of 
reception." 

The  measured  cadence  of  oars  confirmed  the  surmise 
just  made,  and  the  young  men  eagerly  pressed  to  the 
furthest  point  of  land,  and  looked  well  to  the  priming  of 
their  firelocks.  The  barge  was  pulled  steadily  towards 
them  until  at  last  a  dusky  outline  emerged  from  the  night, 
and  then  the  shadowy  figures  of  the  crew. 

"Make  not  a  sound,  and  let  them  land  if  they  will," 
said  Hamilton  in  a  low  tone. 

But  the  barge  approached  warily,  with  lengthening 
rests  after  each  dip  of  the  oars.  At  last,  the  officer  in 
command  detected  the  little  party  in  waiting,  and 
shouted  : 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ?  What  deviltry's  on  foot  to- 
nigh  t  ?  " 

"Come  and  see,"  cried  Hamilton  laconically. 

But  the  officer's  night-glass,  together  with  the  ominous 
sounds  from  Fort  George,  clearly  showed  that  this  was 


NEW  YORK  UNDER  FIRE  63 

not  good  advice  under  the  circumstances.  There  was  a 
hurried  consultation,  and  then,  whether  by  order  or  not 
cannot  be  known,  some  one  in  the  boat  fired  a  musket, 
and  the  hot  young  bloods,  for  the  first  time,  heard  the 
music  of  a  whistling  bullet. 

"  Give  'em  a  volley — quick!  "  cried  Hamilton. 

Obedience  to  the  order  was  indeed  prompt,  and  yet 
not  so  hasty  but  that  the  marksmen,  familiar  with  the  rifle 
from  boyhood,  took  good  aim,  and  several  in  the  barge 
were  killed  and  wounded.  The  silent  oars  at  once 
struck  the  water  sharply,  and  the  boat  rapidly  disap- 
peared towards  the  man-of-war  ;  but  the  young  men 
heard  enough  to  satisfy  them  that  their  shots  had  taken 
effect. 

Immediately  upon  the  report  of  the  first  musket, 
Colonel  Lamb,  Captain  Lasher,  and  King  Sears  hastened 
to  the  shore  with  many  others,  and  learned  from  Hamilton 
what  had  occurred.  In  the  meantime  the  barge  reached 
the  vessel  and  reported,  satisfying  Captain  Vanderput  of 
the  Asia  that  the  intimations  he  had  received  of  the  pro- 
posed attack  upon  the  forts  were  correct.  The  British 
authorities  hitherto  had  hesitated  in  taking  decisive  action, 
knowing  that  it  would  precipitate  the  conflict  at  once. 
But  now  the  point  of  forbearance  seemed  passed,  and  he 
ordered  the  port-holes  opened  and  the  rebels  dispersed 
by  a  few  shots.  In  quick  succession  three  flashes  came 
from  the  ship's  sides,  and  three  balls  plowed  into  the 
Battery. 

But  so  far  from  dispersing  quietly,  Lamb  ordered  the 
drums  to  beat  to  arms,  and  the  church  bells  to  be  rung, 
and  soon  the  silent  city  was  in  an  uproar. 

English  blood,  as  well  as  American,  was  now  at  boiling 
point,  and  the  defiant  sounds  from  the  shore  were  no 
longer  answered  by  single  shots  but  by  broadsides,  the 
thundering  echoes  and  crashing  balls  of  which  awoke 
both  Whigs  and  Tories  to  the  realization  of  the  true 


64  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

meaning  of  war.  The  experiences  of  Boston,  the  very 
thought  of  which  had  caused  many  to  tremble,  were  now 
their  own  in  the  aggravated  form  of  a  midnight  cannon- 
ade. Men,  women,  and  children,  many  but  partially 
clad,  rushed  into  the  streets  and  joined  the  increasing 
throng  of  fugitives  that  pressed  towards  the  open  country, 
away  from  the  terrible  monster  in  the  harbor,  whose 
words  were  iron,  and  whose  hot  breath  threatened  to 
burn  their  homes  over  their  heads.  Tories,  as  they  ran, 
cursed  the  rebels,  whom  they  regarded  as  the  cause  of 
the  trouble ;  and  the  Whigs  anathematized  British 
tyranny.  But  faster  and  hotter  than  their  oaths  the 
heavy  balls  crashed  into  their  houses  or  over  their  heads, 
with  the  peculiar,  demoniacal  shriek  of  a  flying  shot. 

A  night  bombardment  is  a  terrible  thing  for  strong, 
brave  men  to  endure.  The  roar  of  cannon  is  awe-inspir- 
ing in  itself;  but  when  it  is  remembered  that  every  flash 
and  thunder  peal  has  its  resistless  bolt  which  is  aimed  at 
one's  life,  only  those  who  have  nerved  themselves  to 
risk  their  lives  calmly,  or  who,  like  the  patriots  on  the 
Battery,  are  lifted  by  mad  excitement  above  all  fears, 
can  stand  unmoved.  But  how  could  the  sick  and  the 
aged — how  could  helpless  women  and  children  endure 
such  an  ordeal  ?  Only  the  pitying  eye  of  God  noted  all 
the  fainting,  mortal  fear  of  those  who  tremblingly  snatched 
children,  treasures,  or  sacred  heirlooms,  and  sought  to 
escape.  Hearts  almost  ceased  their  beating,  as  the 
terror-stricken  fugitives  heard  balls  whizzing  towards 
them.  The  messengers  of  death  might  strike  out  of  the 
darkness  anywhere  and  any  one.  Broadway  has  wit- 
nessed many  scenes,  but  never  a  more  pitiable  one  than 
when,  in  that  August  midnight,  a  hundred  years  ago,  it 
was  thronged  with  half-clad,  shrinking,  sobbing  women, 
and  little  children  wailing  for  parents,  lost  in  the  dark- 
ness and  the  confusion  of  flight.  When,  at  last,  the  open 
fields  beyond  the  range  of  the  Asia  s  guns  were  reached, 


NEW  YORK  UNDER  FIRE  65 

the  strangely  assorted  'multitude,  from  whom  the  gloom 
of  night  and  common  misfortune  had  blotted  out  all  dis- 
tinctions, sat  down  panting  and  weary,  and  prayed  for 
the  light  of  day. 

Many  who  were  helpless  and  a  few  who  were  brave 
remained  in  their  homes,  either  in  an  agony  of  fear  or  in 
quiet  resignation.  Among  the  latter  was  Phoebe  Fraun- 
ces.  But  there  was  not  a  particle  of  resignation  in  her 
nature,  for  she  chafed  around  her  father's  tavern  like  a 
caged  lioness ;  and  when  a  round  shot,  well  and  spite- 
fully aimed  at  the  "  pestilent  rebel  nest,"  as  it  was  called 
on  the  Asia,  crashed  through  the  house,  shattering  a  de- 
canter of  Madeira  that  the  gunner  would  rather  have 
drained  himself,  she  forgot  the  softness  of  her  sex  utterly, 
and  seizing  a  huge  cutlass  that  hung  over  the  bar,  and 
leaving  her  mother  to  recover  from  a  fit  of  hysterics  as 
best  she  might,  she  started  for  the  scene  of  action  in  a 
mood  that  would  have  led  her  to  board  the  Asia  single- 
handed,  had  the  opportunity  offered.  But,  as  she  ap- 
proached Fort  George  and  heard  the  rough  voices  of  the 
men  at  work,  her  modesty  regained  its  control,  and  she 
realized  that  it  was  scarcely  proper  for  a  young  woman 
to  be  abroad  and  alone  at  that  time  of  the  night ;  so,  she 
who  was  ready  to  attack  a  man-of-war,  turned  and  fled 
before  that  which  a  true  woman  fears  more  than  an  army 
— the  appearance  of  evil.  But  it  would  have  been  a 
woful  blunder  for  any  rude  fellow  to  have  spoken  to 
Phoebe  that  night,  armed  as  she  was  with  the  old  cutlass, 
and  abundance  of  muscle  to  wield  it.  His  gallant  ad- 
vances would  have  been  cut  short  instantly. 

Although  there  was  panic  in  the  city,  there  was  noth- 
ing of  the  kind  within  the  dismantled  walls  of  Fort 
George,  from  which  the  cannon  were  fast  disappearing  ; 
nor  upon  the  Battery,  where  Colonel  Lamb's  artillery- 
men, flanked  by  Hamilton  and  his  students,  were  drawn 
up,  to  prevent  the  Asia  from  interfering  with  their  opera- 


66  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

tions  by  landing  a  force  from  the  vessel.  But  Captain 
Vanderput  prudently  contented  himself  with  striking 
from  a  distance,  supposing  that  the  terrors  of  a  night 
bombardment  would  soon  bring  the  contumacious  rebels 
to  their  knees.  To  make  the  warning  lesson  still  more 
effectual,  and  to  increase  their  punishment  greatly,  he 
ordered  the  guns  to  be  loaded  occasionally  with  the 
deadly  grape-shot. 

But,  in  the  morning,  both  he  and  the  populace  had  a 
surprise.  The  Battery  was  not  covered  with  killed  and 
wounded.  In  fact,  there  was  not  a  Whig  to  be  seen, 
dead  or  alive.  But  neither  was  there  a  cannon  to  be 
found  in  the  royal  forts.  While  he  had  been  thundering 
his  disapproval  from  the  harbor,  the  "  raw  militia,"  who, 
his  officers  jocularly  asserted,  "  would  not  stop  running 
south  of  King's  Bridge,"  had  steadily  completed  their 
tasks,  and  spirited  off  every  gun  to  parts  unknown. 

And  when,  in  the  peaceful  summer  morning,  the  fugi- 
tives, who  had  spent  the  night  in  the  open  air,  concluded 
they  had  better  go  home  to  breakfast,  and  appear  in  less 
picturesque  toilets,  they  found,  instead  of  death,  carnage, 
and  gutters  running  with  blood,  no  wounds  save  those 
which  the  carpenter  and  joiner  could  heal.  It  was  an- 
other remarkable  example  of  how  little  destruction  may 
be  caused  by  a  bombardment  even  in  a  crowded  city. 
The  mercurial  temperament  of  the  people,  which  their 
descendants  seem  to  have  inherited,  led  those  of  Whig 
proclivities,  who  were  overwhelmed  with  terror  but  a  few 
hours  previous,  to  react  into  cheerfulness  and  exultation. 
Many  doughty  citizens,  who  stole  into  their  back  en- 
trances, strangely  appareled,  soon  afterwards  appeared, 
dressed  in  different  style,  at  their  front  doors,  hoping 
that  their  flight  had  been  covered  by  the  darkness  ;  and 
not  a  few,  who  had  made  excellent  time  towards  King's 
Bridge,  ventured,  over  their  dram  at  the  corners  of  the 


NEW  YORK  UNDER  FIRE  67 

streets,  to  descant  on  ' '  the  way  we  carried  off  the  British 
bulldogs  from  the  fort." 

The  Tory  element  in  the  city  was  very  quiet  that  day  ; 
but  a  sullen,  vindictive  expression  lowered  upon  many 
faces.  The  timid  and  conservative  sighed,  again  and 
again, 

"  Where  is  this  thing  to  end  ?" 

In  a  beautiful  up-town  villa,  the  face  of  one  fair  woman 
was  often  distorted  with  passion  and  hate,  as  she  hissed, 
through  her  teeth,  "He  was  foremost  in  this  vile  night 
work."  But  when  Saville,  hungry  and  exhausted, 
reached  his  home,  his  mother,  who  had  been  a  sleepless 
watcher,  only  folded  him  in  her  arms,  murmuring, 

"  Thank  God!  you  are  yet  spared  to  me." 

Then  she  gave  him  a  breakfast  that  in  future  cam- 
paigning caused  many  a  longing  sigh  as  he  remembered 
it. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LARRY   MEETS   HIS   FATE 

HAVING  completed  all  the  arrangements  possible  for 
his  mother's  comfort,  and  settled  his  affairs  as  far  as  the 
times  permitted,  Saville  made  known  his  readiness  to 
enter  the  regular  service  at  any  point  where  he  could  be 
most  useful.  His  education  as  an  engineer  led  to  his 
being  sent  to  Martelear's  Rock  (Constitution  Island)  in 
the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson.  He  would  have  much 
preferred  serving  under  Washington,  before  Boston,  but 
had  too  much  of  the  spirit  of  a  soldier  to  think  of  aught 
save  prompt  obedience.  Having  been  commissioned  as 
lieutenant,  he  repaired  to  the  scene  of  his  duties  about 
the  last  of  September,  and  found  that  he  was  to  serve 
under  an  officer  by  the  name  of  Colonel  Romans, 
who  had  arrived  on  the  ground  with  a  small  working 
force  about  a  month  earlier.  He  was  assigned  to  the 
duty  of  superintending  the  details  of  labor  and  the  carry- 
ing out  of  the  plans  of  the  chief  engineer  in  respect  to  the 
incipient  fortifications. 

While  strolling  around  the  rocky  island,  the  evening 
after  his  arrival,  he  soon  came  in  full  view  of  the  extreme 
point  of  land  on  the  western  shore,  whereon  he  had  seen 
such  a  strange  vision  a  few  months  previous.  In  the 
press  and  excitement  of  succeeding  events,  the  circum- 
stance had  quite  faded  from  his  memory  ;  but  now,  with 
the  purpose  of  diverting  his  mind  from  painful  thoughts, 
he  decided  to  solve  the  pretty  enigma  by  which  he  had 
been  so  unexpectedly  baffled.  He  made  some  inquiries 
of  the  small  garrison  with  whom  he  was  associated  ;  but 
they,  like  himself,  were  newcomers,  and  knew  nothing  of 


LARRY  MEETS  HIS  FATE  69 

the  few  inhabitants  of  the  region.  For  several  days  he 
was  too  much  occupied  with  the  effort  to  obtain  the  mas- 
tery of  his  duties  to  think  of  aught  else,  and,  when  even- 
ing came,  was  well  contented  to  climb  some  rocky  point 
on  the  island,  and  rest,  while  he  enjoyed  the  wonderful 
beauty  of  the  landscape  ;  for  this  historic  region  was  just 
as  weird  and  lovely  then  as  now,  when  it  is  admired  by 
thousands  of  tourists. 

But  one  warm  afternoon,  early  in  October,  he  took 
with  him  the  garrulous  Larry,  his  body-servant,  who  had 
followed  the  fortunes  of  his  master,  and  started  in  a  little 
skiff  down  the  river  to  a  cottage  on  the  western  bank, 
which  he  had  noted  on  his  journey  up.  This  might  be 
the  home  of  the  wood-nymph,  or  he  there  might  learn 
something  about  her. 

"  Come,  Larry,  I  want  time  for  a  little  shooting  after  I 
land,"  said  Saville,  impatiently  ;  "  so  pull  away,  and  I 
will  steer,  for  the  tide  is  against  us." 

"  I'm  obleeged  to  yer  honor,"  replied  Larry,  dryly, 
tugging  at  the  oars  ;  "  there's  nothing  like  dewision  of 
labor." 

"You  can  rest  while  I  am  tramping  round  with  my 
gun,"  said  Saville,  who  gave  Larry  something  of  the 
license  of  a  court  jester.  "  I  shall  expect  you  to  wait  for 
me  where  I  leave  you,  so  that  there  may  be  no  delay  in 
our  return." 

"  Faix,  sur,  I  hope  ye's  gun  will  be  more  ready  to  go 
off  than  I'll  be,  arter  this  pull." 

Having  descended  the  river  half  a  mile  below  the 
foaming  cascade  now  known  as  Buttermilk  Falls,  they 
fastened  their  boat  and  ascended  the  bank  to  the  cottage, 
or,  more  correctly,  log  cabin. 

Saville  quickly  saw  enough  to  convince  him  that  this 
could  not  be  the  home  of  the  young  girl  who  sang 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 


70  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

A  huge,  fat  hog  reclined  in  the  sun  near  the  step,  and 
chickens  passed  in  and  out  of  the  door,  as  if  they  had 
equal  rights  with  the  family,  while  the  cow-stable  formed 
an  extension  to  the  dwelling,  and  was  quite  as  well  built 
as  the  rest  of  it.  Were  it  not  for  his  wish  to  make  in- 
quiries, he  would  have  turned  away  in  disgust. 

But  for  Larry  the  scene  appeared  to  have  unwonted 
attractions.  With  arms  akimbo  he  struck  an  attitude  of 
admiring  contemplation,  as  he  exclaimed, 

"  I'm  glad  I  come  wid  your  honor,  for  I've  seen 
nothink  so  swate  since  I  left  the  ould  counthry.  Now, 
isn't  that  a  beautiful  soight  ?  Pace  and  plenty  !  'Twas 
jist  such  a  pig  as  that  as  grunted  at  me  father's  door. 
Faix,  sur,  it  makes  me  a  bit  homesick  ;  "  and  Larry's 
shrewd,  twinkling  eyes  grew  moist  from  early  memories. 

As  they  proceeded  a  little  further,  Larry  saw  that 
which  proved  quite  as  attractive  to  him  as  the  vision  of 
Vera  had  been  to  Saville  a  few  months  before  ;  but  the 
elements  of  mystery  and  romance  were  wholly  wanting. 
In  a  small  inclosure  back  of  the  house  a  young  Irish- 
woman was  digging  potatoes.  As  the  men  approached, 
she  leaned  leisurely  upon  her  fork-handle,  and  stared  at 
them  unblenchingly.  Her  head  was  bare,  but  well 
thatched  with  thick,  tangled  tresses  which  were  a  little 
too  fiery  to  be  called  golden.  Her  eyes  were  dark,  ex- 
pressive, and  bold  ;  her  stout  arms  were  red  and  freckled, 
as  was  also  her  full  and  rather  handsome  face.  In  sim- 
plicity and  picturesqueness  no  fault  could  be  found  with 
her  dress,  for  it  appeared  to  consist  only  of  a  red  petti- 
coat and  a  scant  blue  bodice  ;  but  it  might  well  have 
been  mended  at  several  points.  Her  feet  and  ankles 
were  as  bare  as  those  of  Maud  Muller,  if  not  so  shapely 
and  slender.  But,  as  she  stood  there,  aglow  with  exer- 
cise, in  the  afternoon  sun,  she  seemed  to  Larry  a  genuine 
Irish  houri — the  most  perfect  flower  of  the  Green  Isle  that 
he  had  ever  seen  ;  and  he  hoped  that  his  master,  who 


LARRY  MEETS  HIS  FATE  71 

had  accosted  an  old  woman  knitting  in  the  doorway, 
would  keep  him  waiting  indefinitely,  so  that  he  might 
make  the  acquaintance  of  this  rave  creature. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  well,  madam,  and  enjoying  the 
fine  afternoon,"  began  Saville,  with  French  suavity. 

"  Umph  !  "  responded  the  old  woman,  and  after  looking 
him  over  briefly,  went  on  with  her  knitting. 

"Have  you  any  neighbors  in  this  region?"  asked 
Saville,  undaunted  by  his  forbidding  reception. 

"  Mighty  few  as  is  neighborly." 

"  But  there  are  other  families  living  near." 

"  A  small  sprinklin'." 

"  Haven't  you  some  neighbors  further  up  the  river, 
and  nearly  opposite  the  island  where  we  are  building  the 
fort?" 

"  Indade,  an'  we  have  not  Our  neighbors  be  dacent 
folks  who  own  their  land,  and  not  skulkin'  and  hidin' 
squatters."  '  i  . 

"  Would  you  mind  taking  a  shilling  for  a  bowl  of 
milk?"  said  Saville,  pursuing  his  object  with  a  little 
finesse. 

"  Now  ye  talk  sinse,"  replied  the  old  woman,  rising. 
"  No,  nor  two  on  'em.  I  ax  your  pardon  for  being  a  bit 
offish,  for  I've  seen  sogers  in  the  ould  counthry,  an'  no 
good  came  o'  'em.  Yer  grinnin'  man  there  is  not  a 
soger,  be  he  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  ;  Larry  is  a  man  of  peace." 

"  'Kase  I  want  'em  all  to  understand  that  if  any  sogers 
come  a  snoopin'  round  here  arter  Molly,  they'll  be  arter 
catchin'  me  'stead  o'  her." 

"  I  don't  think  any  will  come,  then,"  said  Saville 
gravely.  "  But  I'm  sorry  you  give  your  neighbors  up 
the  river  such  a  bad  character." 

"It's  not  meself  that  gives  'em  a  bad  character,  bur 
their  own  bad  dades." 

"  Why,  what  have  they  done  ?  " 


72  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"That's  more'n  any  one  knows;  sumpin'  the  ould 
man's  mighty  'shamed  on,  for  he  won't  look  honest  folk 
in  the  face  ;  and  as  for  that  wild  hawk  of  a  gal  o'  his'n, 
the  less  said  'bout  her  the  better.  She's  kind  of  a  witch, 
anyhow,  and  'pears  and  dodges  out  o'  sight  while  yer 
winkin'.  She  needn't  turn  up  her  nose  at  my  Molly 
there,  that's  come  o'  dacent  folk." 

"  And  has  she  been  guilty  of  that  offense  ?  " 

"  Dade  an'  she  has  ;  Molly  comes  'cross  her  now  an' 
thin,  out  berryin',  and  fust  she  tried  to  speak  her  fair, 
but  the  ill-mannered  crather  would  kinder  stare  at  her  a 
minute,  and  thin  vanish  in  a  flash.  She's  larnt  more  o' 
that  ould  heathen  black  witch,  as  lives  wid  'em,  than 
any  thin'  good." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  family  ?  " 

"That,  too,  is  more'n  anybody  knows.  They  calls 
'emselves  '  Brown  '  ;  but  I  know  'tain't  their  name  ;  for  it 
was  meself  that  did  a  bit  o'  washin'  for  'em  once  when 
the  woman  was  sick,  and  there  was  two  names  on  the 
linen,  but  nary  one  nor  tother  was  Brown.  I  couldn't 
jist  make  out  what  they  was,  for  I  hain't  good  at  readin'  ; 
but  one  thing  is  sartin,  husband  and  wife  don't  have  two 
names." 

"  Have  they  done  anything  wrong  since  they  came 
here  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  they  are  robbin'  and  murderin' 
every  night,  and  yet  how  they  live  nobody  knows.  But 
it's  'nuff  that  they're  hathen.  They  did  widout  the 
praste  in  the  fust  place,  and  nary  a  thing  have  they  had 
to  do  wid  praste  or  parson  since.  The  ould  black  witch 
worships  the  divil,  for  Molly's  seen  her  in  the  woods 
a-goin'  on  as  would  make  yer  har  stan'  up ;  and  I'm 
a-thinkin"  the  divil  will  git  'em  all ;  an'  he  may,  for  all  o' 
me." 

By  the  time  Saville  had  finished  his  bowl  of  bread  and 
milk,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  crone  had  more 


LARRY  MEETS  HIS  FATE  73 

spite  and  prejudice  against  her  neighbors  than  knowledge 
of  them.  It  was  the  old  story  of  resentment  on  the  part 
of  the  ignorant  and  the  vulgar  towards  superiority  and 
exclusiveness.  It  was  very  probable,  however,  that 
some  guilty  secret  of  the  past  led  to  this  utter  seclusion. 
Saville  well  knew  that  there  were  many  hiding  in  the 
wilderness  whose  antecedents  would  not  bear  much  light. 
And  yet  his  curiosity,  so  far  from  being  satisfied,  was 
only  piqued  the  more  by  the  old  woman's  dark  intima- 
tions. Taking  his  gun,  he  said  to  Larry,  who  was  now 
digging  potatoes  vigorously, 

"  So  that  is  the  way  you  are  resting." 

"  Diggin'  praties  is  an  aisy  change,  and  kind  o'  home- 
like ;  and  thin,  yer  honor,  ye  wud  not  have  me  a-standin' 
like  a  great  lazy  lout,  while  a  fair  leddy  was  a-workin'." 

"  Very  well ;  but  save  enough  muscle  to  row  me  home." 
And  he  went  back  upon  the  hills  in  quest  of  game,  leav- 
ing his  deeply  smitten  factotum  to  the  wiles  of  Molly,  who, 
with  hands  upon  her  hips,  contemplated  his  chivalric 
labors  in  her  behalf  with  great  complacency. 

"  The  top  o'  the  mornm'  to  ye,"  Larry  had  said  as  he 
approached,  doffing  his  hat. 

"  Faix,  an'  ye're  a  green  Irishman  not  to  know  the 
afthernoon  from  mornin',"  was  Molly's  rather  brusque 
greeting. 

"  The  sight  o'  ye  wud  make  any  time  o'  night  or  day 
seem  the  bright  mornin',"  was  Larry's  gallant  re- 
joinder. 

"  Ye  kissed  the  blarney-stone  afore  ye  left  home,  I'm 
a-thinkin'." 

"  An'  ye'll  let  me  kiss  yer  own  red  lips,  I'll  dig  all  these 
praties  for  ye." 

"  I  see  ye're  good  at  a  sharp  bargain,  if  ye  be  a  bit 
green.  But  I'll  wait  till  ye  dig  the  praties." 

<l  But  ye'll  give  me  jist  one  buss  when  I'm  half  through, 
to  kinder  stay  me  stomach." 


74  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  There's  plenty  lads  as  wud  be  glad  to  dig  the  praties 
for  me  widout  a-drivin1  hard  bargains  for  it." 

"  So  they'll  tell  yees  afther  the  praties  is  dug.  They'll 
be  very  svvate  about  it  whin  the  cowld  snow  kivers  the 
ground." 

"An*  ye  think  ye're  very  swate  about  it  now,"  said 
Molly,  with  her  head  coquettishly  on  one  side. 

"  No,  but  I'm  a-hopin'  ye'll  be  swate  about  it." 

"  What's  yer  name,  anyhow  ?  " 

"Larry  O'Flarharty  ;  an'  ye  may  have  it  yerself  any 
day  that  ye'll  go  wid  me  to  the  praste." 

"  Is  that  what  ye  say  to  every  gal  ye  mate  ? " 

"  Faix,  an'  it  is  not.  It's  to  yersel'  that  I've  fust  said 
it." 

"  Ye're  better  at  talkin'  than  doin'.  I  thought  I'd  git 
at  least  one  hill  o'  praties  dug  by  yees." 

"  Give  me  the  fork,  thin,  and  I'll  show  ye  that  Larry 
O'Flarharty  can  take  care  o'  ye  and  a  dozen  childer  into 
the  bargain." 

"  Och,  ye  spalpeen!  Ye'll  have  me  coorted,  mar- 
ried, and  a  gran'mother,  afore  ye  git  a  praty  out  the 
dirt." 

Larry  set  about  his  labor  of  love  with  such  zeal  that  the 
potatoes  fairly  hopped  out  of  the  ground,  carroling,  as  he 
worked, 

"  I'll  dress  ye  up  in  silks  so  foine, 
An'  ye  shall  drink  the  best  o'  woine. 
Be  jabers  !  but  we'll  cut  a  shoine 
The  day  when  what's  yer  name  is  moine. 

How's  that  for  a  dilicate  way  of  axing  ye  yer  name  ?" 

"  What  do  I  want  wid  a  name  since  ye're  goin'  to  give 
me  yourn  ?  " 

"  What  shall  I  call  ye  till  the  happy  day  comes?  " 

"  Molly,  for  short." 

"  Let  it  be  for  short,  thin,  and  not  for  long." 


LA  BEY  MEETS  HIS  FATE  75 

"  D'ye  think  I  wud  marry  a  man  o'  all  work?  I'm 
goin'  to  marry  a  gallant  soger  boy." 

"  No  ye  hain't,  nayther,"  struck  in  her  mother,  whose 
age  had  evidently  not  impaired  her  hearing. 

Molly  gave  her  head  a  defiant  toss  which  indicated  that 
the  maternal  leading-strings  had  parted  long  ago.  Larry 
paused  abruptly  in  his  work,  and  leaning  his  chin  on  the 
fork-handle,  asked, 

"Are  ye  sarious  about  that  now  ?" 

"  Ah,  go  on  wid  yer  work  and  sthop  yer  foolin',"  said 
Molly,  who  saw  that  she  had  made  a  false  move  in  her 
little  game  to  get  her  potatoes  dug  by  another. 
.    "  Divil  a  praty  will  I  dig  till  ye  tell  me." 

"  Divil  another  shall  ye  dig  any  way,  ye  impudent 
spalpeen!"  retorted  Molly,  who  was  touchy  as  gun- 
powder ;  and  she  took  the  fork  out  of  his  hands,  and 
turning  her  back  upon  him,  struck  it  into  the  potato  hill- 
ocks as  only  a  spiteful  termagant  could.  Discomfited 
Larry  in  the  meantime  perched  himself  on  the  fence,  that 
he  might  take  an  observation,  and  hold  a  council  of  war 
in  his  own  mind.  But  the  more  he  looked  the  more  the 
charms  of  this  wonderful  creature  grew  upon  him,  and 
his  soft,  impressible  heart  became  as  wax.  He  soon 
hopped  down  from  his  rail,  and  said, 

"  Come  now,  Molly  darlint,  what's  the  use  o'  a-goin' 
agin  fate  ?  Ye  shall  marry  a  soger  bhoy,  I  see  that  by 
the  cut  of  yer  perty  jib,  as  the  sailors  say.  Ye've  spunk 
and  fire  enough  for  a  rigiment.  Give  me  the  fork  agin, 
and  one  o'  yer  own  swate  smiles." 

"  Well,  since  ye're  a  sort  o*  baste  o'  burden,  an'  loike 
workin'  better  nor  fightin',  ye  may  have  yer  way." 

"  Faix,  an'  I  will  be  a  baste  wid  the  burden  of  a  sore 
an'  heavy  heart,  if  ye  talk  to  me  in  that  way." 

Molly  could  come  out  of  a  pet  as  quickly  as  she  fell 
into  it,  and  so  she  said, 

"  I'll  be  swate  thin  till  ye  git  the  praties  dug." 


76  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Yis,  an'  many  a  long  day  afther.  I  know  the  soger 
bhoy  ye're  goin'  to  marry." 

" No,  ye  don't." 

"Yis,  I  do." 

"  What's  his  name  ?  " 

"  Larry  O'Flarharty.  The  masther  may  git  a  new 
man,  for  I'm  goin'  to  'list.  The  nixt  time  ye  see  me  I'll 
be  a  gay  and  gallant  soger  bhoy.  I'll " 

"  Hush,  mother's  comin'." 

Larry  delved  after  the  potatoes  as  if  they  were  half- 
way down  to  China. 

The  old  woman  looked  sharply  and  suspiciously  at 
them,  but  only  said, 

"  Molly,  go  afther  the  cows." 

"  I'll  go  wid  ye,"  cried  Larry,  throwing  down  the 
fork. 

"No,  ye  won't,"  retorted  the  old  woman;  "  yer 
masther  tould  ye  to  bide  here  till  he  come." 

"  I'm  a-thinkin'  I'll  be  me  own  masther,"  said  Larry, 
straightening  himself  up;  "everybody's  gittin'  free  an' 
indepindent,  and  I'll  thry  a  hand  at  it  meself." 

"  Go  along  and  git 'em  yerself,  mother,"  added  Molly, 
who  began  to  entertain  some  thoughts  of  her  own  in  re- 
gard to  this  ardent  admirer  that  was  so  subservient  to  her 
will  and  moods.  "  They  hain't  far  off;  and  ye  wud  not 
have  me  treat  the  man  what  has  been  a-workin'  for  me 
all  the  afthernoon  so  oncivil  as  to  lave  him  alone.  Go 
along,  and  we'll  have  the  praties  dug  agin  ye  git  back." 

The  old  woman  was  in  straits  what  to  do,  since  in  either 
case  she  must  leave  her  daughter  alone  with  one  at  least 
nearly  connected  with  the  dreaded  "  sogers  "  ;  but  at  last 
she  hobbled  grumblingly  after  the  cows,  the  tinkle  of 
whose  bells  proclaimed  them  near. 

With  the  usual  perverseness  of  human  nature,  Molly 
grew  friendly  towards  the  soldiers  as  her  mother  showed 
prejudice  against  them.  The  more  she  learned  about 


LARRY  MEETS  HIS  FATE  77 

their  life,  the  more  attractive  its  publicity,  vicissitudes, 
and  excitement  became  to  her  bold,  restless  spirit,  and 
she  had  already  resolved  to  enter  the  camp  in  some 
capacity  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  The  thought 
now  occurred  to  her  that  perhaps  she  might  find  in  this 
plastic,  garrulous  stranger  just  the  chance  she  hoped  for. 
Molly  was  aware  of  her  infirmity  of  temper,  and  if  she 
could  find  a  "soger"  that  could  be  kept  submissively 
under  her  thumb,  she  would  consider  herself  blessed  with 
better  luck  than  she  had  ever  dared  to  expect. 

Larry  made  his  first  favorable  impression  when  he 
good-naturedly  dismounted  from  his  rail,  and  recom- 
menced the  work  which  she  was  ready  enough  to  leave 
to  him ;  and  she  was  not  long  in  coming  to  the  con- 
clusion that  if  this  pliable  and  useful  man  of  all  work 
could  be  transformed  into  a  regular  soldier,  and  then  be 
captured  as  a  sort  of  base  of  operations,  which  would 
enable  her  to  lead  a  free,  wild,  rollicking  life,  she.  had 
better  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity.  But  she  went 
direct  to  her  point  with  feminine  indirectness,  and  so 
when  her  mother  was  out  of  hearing,  said, 

"  Ye're  not  brave  enough  to  be  a  soger." 

"  An'  ye  are  not  brave  enough  to  marry  one." 

"  Some  foine  day,  when  ye're  a-blackin'  yer  masther's 
boots,  ye'll  find  yerself  mistaken,  for  ye'll  see  me 
a-walkin'  into  camp  the  wife  o'  the  handsomest  man  o' 
the  lot  o*  yees." 

"  Now  what  do  ye  mane  be  that  ?  "  asked  Larry,  ab- 
ruptly suspending  his  labors,  while  his  chin  and  troubled 
phiz  again  surmounted  the  fork-handle. 

"I  mane,"  said  Molly  yawning,  "that  I'm  only 
a-waitin'  to  make  up  me  mind  which  of  me  soger  swate- 
hearts  to  take." 

"  An'  how  many  have  ye,  sure  ?  "  said  Larry,  in  some- 
thing like  dismay. 

"Oh!  sumthin'  less  than  a  dozen." 


78  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  But  ye  hain't  made  up  yer  mind  on  any  on  'em 
yit  ?  ' '  queried  the  anxious  lover. 

"  Well,  not  yit.  There's  two  or  three  on  'em  I  could 
worry  along  wid  if  I  thried." 

"  Yis,  an'  it  would  be  worryin'  along,  Molly,  me  dear  ; 
while  wid  me  ye'd  be  happy  as  a  quane." 

"  But  I  tailed  ye  afore  I  was  goin'  to  marry  a  soger." 

"  And  I  tailed  ye  afore  I  was  a-goin'  to  be  a  soger." 

"  Yis,  a-goin'  an*  a-goin',  but  I'll  belave  it  when  I  see 
it." 

"  An'  one  wake  from  this  day  ye  will  see  it,"  protested 
Larry,  with  hearty  emphasis. 

"  Now  ye  begin  ter  talk  a  little  sinse,"  said  Molly,  more 
complacently.  "  Well,  well,  I'll  thry  ye,  and  give  ye  an 
aven  start  wid  me  other  swatehearts.  If  ye' re  down  by 
the  wather  a  wake  from  this  afthernoon  dressed  as  a  gay 
soger  boy,  I'll  think  ye  mane  sumthin',  but  all  yer  foine 
words  now  is  loike  spilt  wather." 

"  Och,  Molly,  me  darlint,"  cried  Larry,  and  pitching 
away  his  fork,  he  threw  his  arms  around  the  bewitching 
creature,  and  took  full  payment  for  his  labor  of  the  after- 
noon. 

"  Hold  on,  Larry,"  cried  his  master,  who  had  returned 
just  in  time  to  witness  this  last  demonstration  ;  "  hold  on, 
or  you  will  never  be  able  to  row  me  back  to  camp." 

"  Faix,  yer  honor,"  said  Larry,  somewhat  abashed 
that  his  gallantry  had  been  observed,  "  I  fale  much  re- 
freshed." 

"  Well,  come  along,  then  ;  it's  time  we  were  off." 

"  Good-bye,  thin,  Molly,  my  dear,  for  one  long  wake." 

"  Ye're  nothin'  but  a  wild  Irishman,"  said  Molly,  half 
angry,  and  half  laughing ;  "  but  mind  ye,  come  in  the 
toggery  I  tould  ye  on,  or  don't  ye  come  at  all." 

"  Don't  ye  fear.  Whin  I  come  agin,  yer  other  swate- 
hearts will  be  like  the  stars  when  the  sun  comes  over  the 
mountain." 


LARRY  MEETS  HIS  FATE  79 

"  An'  hist !  "  continued  Molly  ;  "  don't  ye  come  up  to 
the  house,  or  mother'll  take  yer  life.  I'll  mate  ye  at  the 
wather." 

That  night  Larry  made  known  his  purpose  to  enlist  at 
once.  In  vain  Saville  protested.  Like  the  immortal 
Romeo,  Larry  had  found  his  Juliet,  and  was  in  feverish 
haste  to  don  the  uniform  that  would  give  him  an  "  aven 
sthart  wid  the  other  spalpeens  of  swatehearts,"  whose 
imagined  rivalry,  Molly  had  shrewdly  guessed,  would  be 
a  most  powerful  incentive  to  prompt  action. 

"  But  don't  ye  mind,  yer  honor  ;  it's  in  the  'tillery  I'm 
goin'  to  'list,  and  so  I  can  do  yer  odd  jobs  jist  the 
same." 

"  Are  you  going  to  marry  that  carroty-headed  girl  over 
there?" 

"  If  ye  spake  of  the  swate  crathur  in  that  way,  divil  a 
turn  will  I  do  for  ye  agin." 

"  Mark  my  words,  Larry,  you  are  giving  up  one 
master  to  find  a  harder  one,"  at  which  his  quondam 
servant  went  growling  and  muttering  away. 

Larry  was  true  to  his  tryst,  and  the  reader  may  be  as- 
sured that  the  strategic  Molly  was  not  absent.  After  two 
or  three  meetings,  in  which  she  nearly  tormented  the 
poor  fellow  out  of  his  senses,  with  fear  and  jealousy  of 
the  mythical  "swatehearts"  who  were  just  about  to 
carry  her  off,  Molly  permitted  the  entrancing  concession 
to  be  wrung  from  her,  "  I  will  stale  away  wid  ye  to  the 
praste,  if  I  kin  only  git  a  pair  o'  shoes." 

Having  received  this  sweet  assurance  of  affections 
won,  Larry,  on  his  return,  made  pacific  overtures  to  his 
former  master. 

"  Ye  know  that  I  served  ye  long  and  faithfully." 
'"  Well,  that  will  do  for  preface.     What  do  you  want 
now,  Larry  ?  " 

"  Faix,  sur,  an*  if  ye'll  give  me  a  pair  o'  yer  shoes,  I'll 
do  many  a  good  turn  to  pay  for  'em." 


80  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  With  all  respect  for  your  understanding,  Larry,  I 
don't  think  they'll  fit  you." 

"I've  taken  the  measure  of  a  fut  as  they  will  fit,  yer 
honor." 

"  Oh !  I  see  now  ;  yes,  yes,  there  are  the  shoes  ;  and 
by  the  way,  Larry,  I  have  a  pair  of  leather  breeches 
which  you  may  take  her  also  ;  for  she  struck  me  as  one 
who  would  be  sure  to  wear  them  before  long." 

"  Bless  yer  honor,  ye  mustn't  judge  all  the  women  o' 
the  world  by  yer  own  bad  luck."  And  with  this  home- 
thrust,  Larry  went  chuckling  away  with  the  shoes  that 
were  to  consummate  his  happiness. 

Before  a  week  of  wedded  bliss  had  passed,  the  newly 
fledged  artilleryman  found  that  he  had,  indeed,  ex- 
changed his  old  master  for  a  more  exacting  one,  and  he 
dubbed  the  redoubtable  Molly  "  captain,"  long  before 
she  won  the  title  by  her  military  prowess. 


CHAPTER  IX 
LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE 

THE  changes  that  war  was  about  to  make,  in  the  wild 
and  secluded  region  which  Vera's  father  had  chosen  as 
his  retreat  and  hiding-place,  soon  began  to  manifest 
themselves.  The  arrival  of  the  engineer,  Colonel  Ro- 
mans, with  his  working  force,  at  Constitution  Island, 
was  discovered  almost  immediately  by  the  young  girl, 
while  out  upon  one  of  her  excursions,  in  the  latter  part 
of  August.  Nor  could  the  advent  of  the  soldiery  be 
kept  from  her  father,  as  the  morning  and  evening  guns, 
and  the  notes  of  the  drum  and  fife,  announced  their 
presence,  with  startling  distinctness,  in  the  quiet  sum- 
mer air. 

At  first  the  morbid  and  conscience-stricken  man  was 
in  great  excitement  and  alarm,  and,  with  the  tendency 
common  to  persons  in  his  condition,  connected  the 
unlooked-for  event  with  danger  to  himself.  His  fears  led 
him  to  propose  that  they  should  all  leave  their  home, 
and  seek  some  more  secluded  spot  far  back  in  the 
mountains  ;  but  for  once  his  meek  and  gentle  wife  was 
firm  in  her  opposition  to  his  will.  She  saw  that  her 
husband's  mind  had  become  so  warped  that  it  was  no 
longer  capable  of  correct  judgment  in  any  matter  where 
his  fears  were  concerned.  The  reason  for  the  military 
occupation  of  the  island  opposite  she  had  not  yet  learned, 
but  could  not  see  how  it  necessarily  threatened  them 
with  danger.  Moreover,  her  desire  that  Vera  might 
form  acquaintances,  who  could  rescue  her  eventually 
from  a  seclusion  that  might  at  last  leave  the  girl  utterly 
alone  in  the  world,  increased  daily.  In  spite  of  her 


82  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

false  hopes,  which  were  a  part  of  her  disease,  and  an 
earnest  desire  to  live,  she  had  failed  so  rapidly,  during 
the  oppressive  heats  of  summer,  that  vague  fears  for  the 
future  often  gave  her  great  uneasiness.  She  clearly 
recognized  her  husband's  growing  distemper  of  mind, 
and  old  Gula  was  still  less  to  be  depended  upon.  How 
could  she  leave  her  child  so  friendless  and  unshielded? 

In  her  terrible  anxiety,  the  gentle  creature  would  at 
times  become  almost  stern  and  fierce  in  her  appeals  to 
heaven,  crying  : 

"  O  God  !  as  thou  art  good  and  true,  preserve  my 
child,  and  bring  her  to  me  at  last,  pure  and  unspotted 
from  the  world.  I  commit  her  to  thy  care,  and  I  hold 
thee  to  thy  many  promises." 

While  her  growing  weakness  made  it  apparent,  even 
to  her  husband,  that  she  could  not  be  moved,  and  he  was 
thus  induced  to  remain  in  his  present  home,  he  continued 
steady  and  unrelenting  in  his  determination  that  no  acr 
quaintances  should  be  formed  with  the  newcomers.  Of 
this  purpose  Vera  and  her  mother  had  a  very  dishearten- 
ing illustration  about  the  middle  of  October. 

One  day,  just  as  they  were  about  to  sit  down  to  their 
meagre  dinner,  the  two  huge  dogs  bounded  out  from  the 
door-step,  with  fiercest  clamor. 

Mr.  Brown,  as  he  maybe  called  at  present,  sprang  up, 
and  was  only  in  time  to  prevent  a  conflict  between  a 
stranger  and  the  savage  beasts. 

Vera  also  ran  to  the  door,  in  order  to  see  the  cause 
of  the  alarm  and  her  heart  throbbed  quickly,  as  she 
recognized  in  the  stranger  the  young  man  who  had 
surprised  her,  in  the  manner  already  described,  while 
fishing. 

"Back,  Tiger  and  Bull,"  said  their  master;  and,  as 
the  dogs  reluctantly  obeyed,  he  advanced  with  a  dignity 
which  Saville  was  quick  to  recognize,  and  said,  coldly, 

"  Have  you  any  special  business  with  me  ? " 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE  83 

The  young  man  commenced  replying  suavely,  and  in 
a  manner  which  he  hoped  would  pave  the  way  to  an 
acquaintance  ;  but,  still  more  coldly  and  sternly  came 
the  interrupting  question  : 

"  Have  you  any  business  with  me,  sir?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  have,  save  that  as  a  temporary 
neighbor  I  would  be  glad  to  show  myself  neighborly." 

The  man  regarded  him  suspiciously,  but  continued, 
with  the  same  repelling  coldness, 

"  You  have  the  bearing  of  a  gentleman." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and  the  character  and  standing  of  one." 

"I  shall  put  that  assertion  to  the  test,"  was  the  for- 
bidding response;  "and  if  you  fail  to  make  good,  I 
shall  know  how  to  act  hereafter.  I  desire  seclusion  for 
myself  and  family.  This  cottage,  though  very  humble, 
is  my  castle,  and  I  regard  any  visits  to  it  or  to  this 
locality  as  an  intrusion." 

Saville  flushed  deeply,  for,  if  this  man  were  a  guilty 
outlaw,  he  could  assume  a  hauteur  and  loftiness  which 
were  oppressive.  He  felt  almost  as  if  an  ancient  baron 
were  ordering  him,  as  a  poacher,  off  his  grounds.  But 
in  the  face  of  Vera,  who  stood  excited,  trembling,  in  the 
doorway,  he  thought  he  detected  a  different  and  friendly 
expression  ;  so  he  made  one  more  effort  to  remove  the 
suspicious  exclusiveness  of  the  father. 

"  But  suppose  I  come  in  the  spirit  of  kindliness,"  he 
said. 

"I  thought  I  made  it  clear  that  I  desired  no  visits 
whatever,"  was  the  stern  reply. 

"You  are  unwise,  sir,"  said  Saville  with  correspond- 
ing haughtiness.  "  I  am  an  officer  and  a  gentleman, 
and  as  such  might  have  extended  protection  to  you  and 
your  family.  This  region  will  soon  become  full  of  armed 
men,  and  how  can  you  escape  visits  from  the  rude 
soldiery,  who  may  not  always  be  over-scrupulous?  " 

"They  will  come  at  peril  to  life  and  limb,"  said  the 


84  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

man  savagely  ;  and  he  began  to  show  symptoms  of  great 
agitation. 

Saville  saw  that  the  young  girl's  eyes  had  overflowed 
with  tears,  that  her  hands  were  clasped,  and  that  her 
whole  manner  was  a  mute  appeal.  But  whether  it  was 
to  leave  them  at  once,  or  to  give  unasked,  the  protec- 
tion against  the  danger  at  which  he  had  hinted,  and 
which  her  father  had  so  harshly  refused,  he  could  not 
tell.  He  also  saw  that  the  man  was  becoming  excited 
and  dangerous,  and  that  the  dogs,  quickly  catching  their 
master's  spirit,  were  bristling  towards  him.  Vera  sprang 
down  with  words  of  rebuke,  and  soon  had  the  fierce 
animals  crouching  at  her  feet.  As  she  stood  between 
them  in  her  simplicity  and  unconscious  beauty,  tears 
gemming  her  eyes  like  dew  upon  violets,  she  made  a 
picture  that  Saville  did  not  soon  forget. 

With  a  silent  bow  and  smile  to  her,  which  she  returned 
by  a  grave  and  graceful  inclination,  he  turned  away, 
and  soon  disappeared  among  the  trees.  He  had  seen 
enough,  however,  to  kindle  his  vivid  imagination,  and 
on  his  way  back  among  the  hills,  in  search  of  game, 
indulged  in  many  wild  surmises  in  regard  to  the  people 
who  so  resolutely  secluded  themselves.  But  he  could 
scarcely  fail  in  reaching  the  conclusion  that  fear  was 
the  motive,  and  that  the  man  was  hiding  from  the  con- 
sequences of  some  act  of  the  past,  the  discovery  of 
which  would  lead  to  terrible  punishment.  It  was  still 
more  certain  that  he  had  belonged  to  the  superior  and 
educated  classes,  for  his  unkempt  appearance  and  rude 
attire  could  not  disguise  his  proud  and  stately  bearing. 
At  the  same  time,  even  the  brief  glimpse  that  Saville 
had  caught  of  the  externals  of  the  cabin,  proved  that 
some  one  dwelt  there  who  had  an  eye  and  a  love  for 
beauty. 

The  rude  logs  were  prettily  disguised  by  crimson  fes- 
toons of  the  American  ivy.  Clumps  of  eglantine  with 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CASE  85 

equally  brilliant  foliage  stood  on  either  side  of  the  open 
door,  through  which  he  could  see  a  little  of  the  rustic 
decoration  within.  The  impression,  however,  that  the 
man  was  a  criminal  chilled  his  desire  for  personal 
acquaintance,  and  save  some  generous  pity  that  the  fair 
young  girl  should  be  left  to  develop  under  such  forbid- 
ding circumstances,  he  soon  became  indifferent  to  the 
inmates  of  the  cabin  from  which  he  had  been  so  rudely 
repelled.  With  the  exception  of  the  maiden,  the  other 
inmates  were  probably  subjects  for  the  detective  and 
constable.  Whether  right  or  wrong,  Saville  was  as  open 
as  the  day,  and  had  no  taste  for  mysteries  or  crime. 

But  the  results  of  his  attempted  visit  were  not  so 
slight  or  transient  in  the  little  cabin  among  the  moun- 
tains. Vera,  and  especially  her  mother,  were  bitterly 
disappointed.  To  the  latter  it  seemed  as  if  a  providen- 
tial opportunity  of  gaining  some  hold  on  the  outside 
world  had  been  lost ;  and  when  her  husband  became 
calmer,  she  so  remonstrated  with  him  that  he  half  re- 
gretted his  own  action.  But  the  trouble  was  that  he 
could  not  be  depended  on,  for  when  his  mind  had 
been  enabled  for  a  moment  to  struggle  towards  a  correct 
judgment,  another  dark  and  engulfing  wave  of  fear 
would  sweep  over  it,  carrying  him  back  into  the  depths 
of  his  old  despondency  and  morbid  dread  of  strangers. 

But  the  remark  of  Saville,  that  the  region  would  soon  be 
filled  with  armed  men,  while  it  greatly  increased  his  un- 
easiness, also  kindled  a  faint  gleam  of  hope.  In  his 
occasional  expeditions  to  distant  villages  for  the  purpose 
of  barter,  he  had  heard  faint  mutterings  of  the  storm 
that  had  now  broken  over  the  land.  The  only  hints 
which  he  had  obtained  were  from  the  casual  remarks  of 
others,  for  he  had  feared  to  ask  questions,  as  this  would 
give  the  right  to  question  him.  He  was  regarded,  at  the 
few  places  where  he  traded,  as  an  odd,  half-deranged 
man,  and  received  but  little  thought  or  attention. 


86  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Indeed,  it  was  his  policy  to  assume  something  like  im- 
becility on  all  matters  save  that  of  securing  a  fair  return 
for  his  merchandise. 

The  few  expressions  which  he  had  happened  to  hear, 
indicating  trouble  between  England  and  her  colonies, 
had  made  but  little  impression  on  him,  however,  as  the 
idea  that  there  could  be  any  resistance  to  her  mighty 
power  never  entered  his  mind.  But  now  what  else 
could  the  presence  of  so  many  soldiers  mean,  save 
resistance?  Were  the  soldiers  that  had  already  come, 
and  that  were  coming,  under  British  rule  or  hostile  to  it  ? 
If  they  were  English  troops,  nothing  could  induce  him 
to  remain.  If  they  were  American  forces  in  armed 
rebellion,  then  there  would  be  hope  that  in  their  success 
he  might  finally  escape  the  jurisdiction  of  English  law. 
His  mind  became  so  far  aroused  and  clear  that  he  was 
enabled  to  act  intelligently,  though  characteristically. 
Instead  of  going  over  to  Constitution  Island,  where  he 
might  readily  have  learned  the  situation,  he  prepared  a 
large  pack  of  articles  for  barter,  and  started  for  a 
distant  village  down  the  river.  Here  he  assumed  his 
old,  stolid  manner  ;  but  he  heard  enough  to  so  stimulate 
his  curiosity  and  awaken  his  hopes  that  he  at  last 
brought  himself  to  question  an  old  and  inoffensive- 
appearing  man  who  was  working  alone  in  his  garden. 
Learning  from  him  the  principal  facts  which  had  thus 
far  transpired,  and  the  open  resistance  into  which  the 
colonies  had  gradually  passed,  he  started  for  home  in  a 
state  of  wild  and  almost  exultant  excitement.  At  first, 
he  half  proposed  to  take  an  open  part  in  the  struggle. 
But  long  before  he  reached  his  cabin,  the  old  wave  of 
morbid  fear  returned,  and  the  habit  of  secretiveness,  and 
disposition  to  shrink  from  every  one,  resumed  their 
mastery.  He  decided  to  remain  in  his  present  home  as 
a  post  of  observation. 

"  I'll  wait  and  see  what  headway  the  rebellion  makes," 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE  87 

he  muttered  ;  "for  if  it  fails  after  I  have  committed  my- 
self to  it,  I  am  lost  utterly."  The  man  had  become  such 
a  wreck  of  his  former  self  that  his  only  thought  was  for 
his  own  personal  safety.  His  terrible  secret  had  seem- 
ingly blasted  every  generous  and  noble  trait  with  its 
deadly  shade. 

During  his  absence  Vera  and  her  mother  ardently 
hoped  that  the  young  stranger  might  come  again.  Vera 
even  went  down  to  the  shore,  and  looked  wistfully  at  the 
island  opposite,  from  which  the  din  of  labor  on  the  forti- 
fications came  faintly  across  the  river.  But  she  saw  not 
the  one  to  whom  she  now  felt  she  could  almost  find  cour- 
age to  speak,  and  ask  for  that  protection  which  he  had 
intimated  they  might  need. 

During  the  summer  and  autumn,  they  had  been  left 
utterly  alone.  Even  Vera,  in  her  youth  and  inexperi- 
ence, had  become  alarmed  at  her  mother's  feebleness 
and  hacking  cough,  and  her  thoughtful  efforts  to  alleviate 
and  help  were  as  pathetic  as  they  were  beautiful.  She 
felt  that  they  had  a  very  trying  winter  before  them,  and 
knew  that  her  father  could  be  depended  upon  less  and 
less  as  a  support.  But  she  induced  him  to  repair  the 
cellar  under  the  cabin,  so  that  the  vegetables  from  a 
small  garden  might  be  stored  securely.  She  also  had 
persuaded  him  to  enlarge  a  spring  near  the  house  into  a 
little  pond,  and  in  this  her  skill  enabled  her  to  place  quite 
a  number  of  fish.  She  did  her  best  to  follow  the  example 
of  her  wild  playmates  of  the  woods,  that  were  busy  most 
of  the  time  in  providing  against  the  cold,  dark  days  to 
come,  and  she  even  diminished  the  squirrels'  hoards,  by 
the  quantities  of  nuts  which  she  gathered  and  dried  for 
winter  use.  She  also  carefully  noted  the  haunts  of  rab- 
bits, partridges,  and  quails,  and  prepared  traps  and 
snares  which  could  be  used  when  the  snow  covered  the 
ground. 

But,  as  the  autumn  winds  sighed  through  the  moun- 


68  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

tains,  she  sighed  also  ;  for  a  strange  depression  and  bod- 
ing of  evil  was  stealing  over  her.  Her  face,  which  had 
been  full  of  sunshine  and  mirthfulness  even  in  darkest 
days,  grew  unwontedly  thoughtful  and  oppressed  with 
care  ;  but  her  features  were  none  the  less  lovely,  as  they 
began  to  express  womanly  solicitude  and  responsibility 
instead  of  a  child's  light-hearted  confidence.  In  her 
mother's  presence  she  ever  sought,  however,  to  maintain 
her  cheerful  hopefulness.  But  the  mother's  love  pierced 
all  disguises,  and  it  was  one  of  the  bitterest  drops  in  her 
overflowing  cup  that  her  child  should  be  so  early  and 
heavily  burdened. 

The  bond  of  clinging  affection  appeared  to  grow 
stronger  and  tenderer  between  mother  and  daughter,  as 
their  relations  towards  each  other  changed,  and  Vera 
began  to  give  the  failing  parent  the  care  she  had  once 
received  herself.  There  were  days  when  the  poor  woman 
could  scarcely  leave  her  bed,  and  then  Vera's  every 
touch  was  a  caress.  But  the  bracing  air  of  autumn  and 
winter  appeared  to  agree  with  the  invalid  better  than  the 
relaxing  heat  of  summer.  The  generous  diet  of  game 
which  Vera  carefully  prepared  did  much  also  to  keep  up 
her  strength.  But  perhaps  her  gain  in  vigor  was  due  to 
the  element  of  hope  which  her  sympathetic  spirit  caught 
from  her  husband  ;  for  he  had  at  once  informed  his  wife 
of  the  struggle  that  was  commencing  with  the  Power 
he  dreaded,  and  both  felt  that  in  its  success  would  come 
a  calming  sense  of  security.  The  wife  urged  her  hus- 
band to  take  an  open  part  in  the  conflict,  correctly  judg- 
ing that  daily  contact  with  others  would  be  the  best 
antidote  against  his  habit  of  morbid  brooding.  But  in  his 
unnaturally  developed  caution  and  shrinking  fear  of  dis- 
covery, the  man  was  not  equal  to  this,  and,  for  the  time, 
became  only  a  secret  and  anxious  watcher  of  the  events 
which  he  hoped  might  work  out  his  deliverance.  The 
habit  of  suspiciously  shunning  every  one  had  grown  to  be 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE  89 

a  disease.  Indeed,  so  warped  had  he  become  that  he 
began  to  dread  lest  his  wife — the  only  one  in  this  land 
who  knew  his  dire  secret — might  reveal  it  to  Vera  in  some 
unguarded  moment ;  and  at  times  he  even  harshly  cau- 
tioned her  against  such  a  possibility. 

Thus  the  winter  passed  rather  sadly  and  drearily  away. 
Vera's  powers  were  taxed  to  their  utmost  as  nurse, 
watcher,  and  housekeeper.  Her  father  also  had  bad 
days  when  nothing  could  induce  him  to  leave  his  dusky 
corner,  and  then  her  hands  and  feet  were  pinched  with 
cold,  as  she  visited  the  traps  and  snares  among  the  hills, 
carrying  the  fowling-piece  also,  in  order  that  their  meagre 
larder  might  not  become  utterly  bare. 

In  the  midst  of  her  deepening  anxiety  and  increasing 
burdens  her  mystic  sympathy  with  nature  increased,  and 
she  found  comfort  and  companionship  even  in  the  wintry 
landscape.  Bible  ideas  and  imagery  blended  with  what 
she  saw  around  her.  As  with  the  lightness  of  a  fawn  she 
bounded  through  the  newly  fallen  snow,  she  would  ex- 
claim with  an  ecstatic  thrill  of  hope, 

"  My  robe,  one  day,  will  be  as  white  and  sparkling, 
and  the  gems  in  my  crown  brighter  than  the  icicle's 
gleam  hanging  over  yonder  ledge  of  rocks.  God  teaches 
me,  even  in  winter,  by  such  pretty  things,  what  he  is  pre- 
paring for  his  children." 

When  at  times  every  branch,  spray,  and  twig  was  en- 
cased with  snow,  and  the  evergreens  were  bending  be- 
neath their  fleecy  burdens,  she  would  be  half  wild  with 
delight  at  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and  would  cheer  her 
mother  by  saying, 

"  See  what  God  can  do  in  a  single  night.  Won't  our 
mansions  in  heaven,  which  we  so  often  read  about,  be 
beautiful,  mother  ?  for  he  has  had  ever  so  many  years  in 
which  to  prepare  them.  Don't  you  think  he  is  making 
them  prettier  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Vera,"  her  mother  would  reply  ;  "  as  we  grow 


90  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

better,  God  makes  them  prettier.  Never  distrust  him, 
for  you  see  what  he  can  do  even  in  this  world  which  is 
so  full  of  evil  and  trouble. 

Thus,  every  beautiful  object  in  nature  became  to  the 
young  girl  an  evidence  of  her  Heavenly  Father's  good- 
will and  love,  and  an  assurance  that  he  would  fulfil  at 
last  all  the  wonderful  promises  of  the  Bible.  And  dark 
and  dreary  days,  and  disagreeable  things,  were  expres- 
sions of  the  evil  in  the  world,  from  which  she  had  his 
promise  also,  that  she  should  be  protected,  and  finally 
delivered. 

Often,  when  the  cold,  bitter  wind  was  blowing,  and  the 
trees  and  shrubbery  were  tossing  in  its  power,  she  would 
draw  a  slender  spray  with  its  securely  encased  buds 
against  her  glowing  cheeks,  as  she  said,  caressingly, 

"  Don't  fear!  We  shall  be  taken  care  of.  Next  May 
will  be  like  last  May,  and  the  wind  will  come  softly  from 
the  south." 

Again,  she  would  stand  in  the  snow  upon  a  violet  bank, 
and  call, 

"  Heigh-ho,  down  there,  tucked  away  in  your  winter 
bed  !  Do  you  ever  dream  of  me  in  your  sleep  ?  " 

Thus  nature,  even  in  mid-winter,  suggested  to  her 
child  sleep  rather  than  death  ;  and  hope,  instead  of  fear 
and  despair  ;  and  when  her  heart  grew  heavy  and  full  of 
vague  forebodings  of  evil,  as  she  saw  her  mother's 
weakness,  and  her  father  so  deeply  enshrouded  in  gloom, 
she  would  take  her  trusty  gun  and  one  of  the  great  dogs, 
and  spend  hours  among  the  defiles  of  the  mountains, 
finding  peace  and  good  cheer,  where  to  another  would 
have  been  only  blackness  and  desolation,  or  the  awful 
solitude  and  grandeur  of  a  mountain  landscape  in  winter. 
While  Vera's  character  was  simplicity  itself,  this  noble 
companionship  with  things  that  were  grand  and  large, 
though  at  times  stern,  took  away  utterly  the  elements  of 
silliness  and  triviality  which  make  many  young  girls  at 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE  91 

her  age  a  weariness  to  all  save  those  as  empty  as  them- 
selves. And  the  sternness  of  many  scenes  was  more  ap- 
parent than  real  ;  for  in  frowning  ledges  of  rocks  Vera 
found  cosy  nooks  in  which  she  was  protected  from  the 
winds  as  she  rested,  and  the  sun  would  often  light  up  the 
face  of  the  precipice,  as  a  smile  might  illumine  the  rugged 
features  of  one  who  seemed  harsh  and  cold  in  nature,  but 
who,  on  closer  acquaintance,  would  be  found  to  possess 
traits  that  are  kindly  and  gentle. 

The  winter  passed,  and  Vera  was  being  prepared  for 
the  part  she  must  take  in  life — for  temptations  and 
ordeals  which  would  test  the  strength  and  integrity  of  the 
strongest.  Her  teachers  were  not  such  as  the  fashionable 
would  choose  or  desire — sickness  and  sorrow  at  home, 
and  the  solitude  of  wintry  mountains  without ;  and  yet 
these  stern-visaged  instructors  made  their  pupil  more 
sweet,  unselfish,  and  womanly  every  day.  They  en- 
dowed her  with  patience,  and,  at  the  same  time,  inspired 
her  with  hope.  Moreover,  she  had  the  two  grand  books 
of  the  world,  the  Bible  and  Shakespeare  ;  and  often  as, 
she  watched  in  the  corner  of  the  wide  fireplace,  she  half 
read  and  half  brooded  over  their  glowing  pages,  until  her 
own  mind  was  full  of  thronging  thoughts  and  fancies, 
which,  in  their  beauty  and  character,  were  at  least  akin 
to  those  she  read. 

Still,  she  often  had  a  sense  of  loneliness,  and  the 
natural  craving  for  a  wider  companionship  and  sympathy. 
From  the  day  on  which  she  had  at  first  met  Saville,  there 
had  been  in  her  mind  a  vague,  faint  unrest,  and  a  desire 
to  know  more  of  the  world  to  which  he  belonged.  His 
attempted  visit  had  greatly  increased  this  desire,  and 
concentrated  her  thoughts  upon  him  as  the  only  one  con- 
cerning whom  she  had  any  knowledge,  or  who  had  shown 
any  interest  in  her.  She  often  found  herself  vividly  re- 
calling the  two  occasions  on  which  she  had  seen  him,  and 
which  had  ended  so  unsatisfactorily.  His  manner,  ap- 


92  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

pearance,  and  his  words  and  tones  even,  were  dwelt 
upon  ;  and  he  became  to  her  like  one  of  Shakespeare's 
knightly  and  heroic  characters — half  real,  half  ideal. 
She  would  end  by  sighing, 

"  He  has  probably  gone  away,  and  thinks  of  us  only 
as  rude,  ill-mannered  mountaineers." 

As  spring  advanced  her  mother  failed  rapidly,  and 
Vera's  heart  and  hands  became  too  full  for  thoughts  of 
aught  else  save  the  deepest  and  tenderest  solicitude. 
Old  Gula  shook  her  head  more  frequently  and  ominously, 
and  Vera  had  the  most  painful  misgivings. 

One  day,  after  her  mother  had  recovered  from  a  ter- 
rible paroxysm  of  coughing,  she  followed  the  old  negress 
to  the  little  kitchen,  and  asked, 

"  Why  do  you  shake  your  head  so  discouragingly  ?  " 

"  I'se  a  tinkin'  dat  missis  is  a  hearin'  voices  as  well  as 
ole  Gula." 

"  What  voices?  " 

"You'se  can't  understan',  chile;  but  you  will,  some 
day.  Dey  come  to  de  homesick  like." 

"  Where  do  they  come  from  ?  " 

"  Why,  from  home,  honey.  You'se  mudder  is  like 
ole  Gula — far  from  home.  I  heerd  her  a  talkin'  in  her 
sleep  of  a  green,  flowery  island,  way  off  'yond  de  big 
water.  She,  no  more'n  ole  Gula,  hab  allers  lived  'mong 
dese  cold,  stony  mountains.  An*  now  de  voices  is  a 
callin'  her  home." 

"  Do  you  think — do  you  think  mother — oh  !  can  mother 
die  ?  "  said  Vera,  in  a  terrified  whisper. 

"  Dunno  nuffin  'bout  dyin",  chile  ;  don't  tink  dere's 
any  such  ting.  But  some  day  you'll  find  dis  ole  body 
lyin'  cold  and  still,  but  'twon't  be  Gula,  'twon't  be  me. 
I'll  be  far  away,  a  followin'  de  voices  ober  de  big  wabes, 
where  de  floatin'  miseries  go,  and  Gula  will  be  home 
where  de  sun  shines  warm  all  de  time,  and  de  palm-trees 
wave.  Oh! — oh! — ole  Gula's  heart  is  sore;  sore  wid 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CAEE  93 

waitin'."  And  the  poor  creature  threw  her  apron  over 
her  head,  and  rocked  herself  back  and  forth  in  all  the 
tropical  demonstrativeness  of  grief. 

But  Vera's  heart  was  sore  also,  and  finding  that  she 
was  losing  self-control,  she  hastened  out  into  the  twilight, 
and  sitting  down  upon  a  rock  back  of  the  cabin,  sobbed 
as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Gula  soon  forgot  her  own  grief  in  the  young  girl's  dis- 
tress, and  removing  her  apron,  her  quaint,  wrinkled  face 
became  full  of  commiseration.  At  last  she  rose  and 
hobbled  to  her,  and  laying  her  hand  on  the  bowed  head, 
said  in  husky  tones, 

"  Dare,  dare,  po'  young  missis ;  don't  take  on  so. 
You  mustn't  be  sorry  dat  you'se  mudder's  goin'  home. 
When  she  gits  back  where  she  lived  afore,  she  won't  be 
sick  any  mo'." 

"  Oh  ! — oh  ! — oh ! — there's  no  use  of  trying  to  be  blind 
any  more.  Mother  is  going  home  ;  but  not  to  England — 
to  a  better  home  than  that.  But,  oh  ! — to  be  left  alone — 
what  shall  I  do  ?  how  can  I  bear  it  ?  " 

Calming  herself  by  a  great  effort,  she  at  last  returned 
to  her  mother,  who  had  surmised  her  daughter's  distress, 
and  looked  at  her  so  wistfully  that  Vera  again  lost  self- 
control,  and  kneeling  by  the  bed,  gave  way  to  an  agony 
of  grief. 

"  O  mother,"  she  sobbed,  "  how  can  you  leave  me  ?  " 

The  poor  woman  gave  her  child  a  startled  look,  and 
then,  more  fully  than  ever  before,  realized  the  inevitable 
separation  soon  to  come  ;  she  also  saw  that  the  sad  truth 
could  be  no  longer  concealed  from  Vera.  Reaching  out 
her  feeble  hands,  she  took  her  child  into  her  arms,  and 
they  wept  together  till  both  were  exhausted.  Then  the 
mother  whispered  the  old  sweet  refrain  that  had  soothed 
and  sustained  her  through  so  many  troubled  years  : 

"  '  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be 
afraid.  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions ' — I 


94  NEAE  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

think  I  shall  soon  be  in  mine,  Vera  ;  and  I  will  watch 
and  wait  for  you." 

"  I  don't  want  another  mansion,  mother.  I'll  ask  God 
to  let  me  live  with  you.  One  mansion  will  be  enough  for 
us  both.  Oh,  why  can't  I  go  with  you?  " 

"  Your  father  needs  you  here,  Vera.  Oh,  my  poor 
husband !  For  my  sake  he  fell  into  this  gulf  of  darkness. 
Had  it  not  been  for  me " 

"  Hush!  "  said  a  stern  voice  ;  and  mother  and  child 
became  very  still,  the  one  oppressed  by  a  dark  secret 
known,  and  the  other  by  the  same  secret  unknown,  but 
which  the  girl,  even  in  her  inexperience  and  ignorance 
of  evil,  began  to  realize  must  be  very  sad  and  dreadful. 
She  retired  for  a  time  to  her  little  grotto-like  apartment  in 
the  side  of  the  hill,  and  then  came  back  calm  and  strength- 
ened, and  entered  upon  her  patient  watch. 

The  husband,  who  had  been  a  silent,  and,  up  to  the 
time  of  his  harsh  interruption,  a  forgotten  witness  of  the 
scene  just  described,  was  terribly  agitated  by  contending 
emotions.  The  words  ,he  had  heard  had  aroused  him 
from  his  deep  preoccupation,  and  he  too  began  to  realize 
for  the  first  time  that  his  wife  might  be  near  her  end — 
that  this  was  more  than  a  temporary  illness.  His  mind 
was  not  so  utterly  warped  but  that  he  foresaw  his  loss 
with  the  keenest  anguish.  He  had  loved  this  faded, 
dying  woman  with  all  the  strength  of  his  nature,  and  the 
thought  that  she  could  die  and  leave  him  had  never  been 
entertained.  But  now  it  came  like  a  revelation — a  light- 
ning flash  into  his  darkness,  making  everything  the 
darker  thereafter.  At  one  moment  his  heart  would  yearn 
towards  her  with  an  infinite  tenderness  and  remorse  ;  and 
then  the  thought  would  come  surging  up,  born  of  his 
guilty  secret  and  demoralizing  fear,  that  if  she  died,  no 
one,  at  least  in  this  land,  would  know  thg  past.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  arrested  her  just  as  she  was 
on  the  point  of  revealing  the  secret  to  his  child.  She 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CASE  95 

might  do  so  still.  He  remembered  that  the  dying  were 
prone  to  unburden  their  hearts  to  some  one.  He  de- 
termined that  this  must  be  prevented  at  all  hazards  ;  and 
in  spite  of  his  morbid  suspiciousness,  he  still  had  such 
trust  in  the  woman  who  had  been  so  true  to  him,  as  to 
be  satisfied  that  if  she  gave  him  her  solemn  promise  to  be 
dumb— never  to  tell  even  Vera— she  would  keep  her 
word. 

When  their  daughter  had  left  them  alone,  he  said  ah* 
ruptly,  and  yet  in  a  tone  that  trembled, 

"  Esther,  are  you  going  to  die  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Guy,"  said  the  wife,  wearily  and  faintly. 

After  a  moment,  and  still  more  tremblingly,  the  man 
said, 

"  Will  you  protect  me  to  the  last,  as  you  have  in  all 
these  years  ?  " 

"Yes,  Guy." 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  word,  which  you  have  never 
broken,  not  to  tell  even  Vera  ?" 

"  Yes,  Guy  •;  not  even  Vera. 

"  Will  you  swear  it  ?  "  he  said  hoarsely, 

•«  God  is  my  witness,  I  will  be  silent.  The  deed  was 
not  done  in  malice — God  will  forgive  you,  Guy.  Oh,  let 
the  '  Lamb  of  God  which  taketh  away  the  sins  of 
the  world  '  lift  the  load  from  your  heart.  He  has  from 
mine.  But  how — how  can  I  leave  yoxi  and  my  darling 
child?  And  yet  you  may  be  better  off  without  me.  I 
fear  I  have  become  a  burden." 

The  man  gave  way,  and  throwing  himself  down  on  his 
knees  beside  his  wife,  groaned  and  sobbed  in  a  perfect 
tempest  of  grief. 

"  I've  blighted  your  life,  Esther/'  he  cried.  "  Think 
what  you  might  have  been.  You  might  have  dwelt  in  a 
palace. ' ' 

"  Hush,  Guy,"  said  his  wife  solemnly.  "  If  all  could 
be  done  over  again  from  that  night  when  you  came  and 


96  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

told  me  what  had  happened,  I  would  act  just  the  same. 
I  loved  you  then.  I  love  you  now,  and  God  loves  you." 

"  What  kind  of  a  God  is  he  that  permits  such  hor- 
rors? "  groaned  the  wretched  man,  showing  that  even 
the  love  of  the  unbelieving  can  in  such  emergencies  do 
little  else  than  wound  and  pain  those  who  cling  to  them. 

"  He  is  the  God  who  only  can  deliver  from  such  hor- 
rors, and  remedy  the  fatal  mistakes  and  deeds  of  this 
life,"  said  his  wife  eagerly. 

"How  has  he  remedied  them?  You  are  dying,  and 
we  will  be  left  alone  in  this  dreary  wilderness,  in  which 
we  must  cower  and  hide  till  we  also  die." 

"  O  Guy,  Guy,  time  is  short,  and  eternity  very  long. 
So  trust,  so  live,  that  all  may  be  well  hereafter.  I 
shall  wait  for  you  and  Vera ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
heaven  will  not  begin  till  you  both  come  to  me." 

The  man  was  silent,  and  became  more  composed. 

"And  Guy,"  continued  his  wife  faintly,  for  she  was 
growing  very  weary,  "  I  fear  this  utter  seclusion  is  unwise 
and  unsafe.  It  may  be  fatal  to  Vera's  happiness.  Go 
out  and  take  an  open  part  in  this  conflict  for  liberty. 
You  will  be  your  old  self  after  you  have  mingled  awhile 
with  your  fellow  men." 

"  Not  yet,"  groaned  the  man.     "  I  dare  not  yet." 

The  wife  sighed  deeply,  but  said  no  more.  But  her 
sore  heart  was  comforted  when  her  husband  rose  and  for 
the  first  time  for  years  bent  over  her,  giving  a  kiss  and 
gentle  caress,  as  he  said, 

"  Poor  little  wife,  you  have  been  faithfulness  itself." 

Then  he  went  back  to  his  dusky  corner  ;  but  the 
watchful  glitter  of  his  eyes  was  often  dimmed  with  tears ; 
and  Vera  found  on  her  return  that  her  mother  had  fallen 
into  the  deep  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion. 

The  spring  night  deepened  and  darkened,  but  a  shadow 
darker  than  the  night  had  fallen  across  the  cottage  ;  for 
all  at  last  realized  that  death  was  near.  Towards  morn- 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CAKE  97 

ing  the  man  dozed  in  his  chair,  but  Vera's  eyes  were 
fixed  with  a  wide  and  fearful  gaze  into  that  dread  future 
when  she  should  be  alone  in  the  world  that  to  her  was  so 
strange  and  unexplored.  More  than  once  the  thought 
crossed  her  mind  in  reference  to  Saville, 

"  If  he  knew,  would  he  come?  " 

And  yet  all  through  that  interminable  night,  she  was 
sustained  and  comforted  by  the  memory  of  One  who  she 
felt  sure  would  know  and  care. 

But  in  the  light  of  the  lovely  May  morning,  and  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  her  mother  seemed  a  little  stronger 
and  easier,  hope  revived. 

"  Father,  I  think  a  surgeon  might  help  mother,"  said 
Vera  with  decision. 

The  man  gave  his  daughter  a  startled  look,  and  her 
words  had  evidently  awakened  a  sudden  conflict  in  his 
mind.  But  his  aroused  and  better  nature  prevailed. 

"Perhaps  he  might,"  he  faltered;  "perhaps  he 
might." 

"  Then  where  can  one  be  found?  " 

He  strode  up  and  down  the  room  a  moment,  then  cast- 
ing a  compassionate  look  at  his  wife,  muttered, 

"  She  shall  have  the  chance,  cost  what  it  may." 
Then  aloud  to  Vera — "  There  is  no  doubt  a  surgeon  at 
the  garrison  on  the  Island." 

••  I  will  go  for  him  at  once,"  said  Vera. 

"  Will  you — will  you  go  ?  "  said  her  father  with  an  air 
of  great  relief. 

"  Yes,  if  I  could  only  keep  mother  with  us,  I  would  go 
anywhere  and  face  anything." 

The  poor  woman  smiled  faintly,  but  shook  her  head. 

But  old  Gula  barred  Vera's  exit,  till  she  had  finished 
her  morning  bowl  of  bread  and  milk. 

"  You'se  not  a  sperrit,  honey,  do'  you'se  growin'  to 
look  mighty  like  one."  Old  Gula  had  considerable  sense 
still  in  spite  of  her  weird  ways. 


98  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  I  will  take  our  little  skiff  out  of  its  hiding-place  and 
launch  it  for  you,"  said  her  father  ;  "and  I  will  be  on 
the  watch  with  my  rifle  all  the  time  to  see  that  no  harm 
comes  to  you."1 

In  less  than  an  hour  Vera's  light  shell  shot  out  of  a 
little  cove  above  the  point  of  land  opposite  Constitution 
Island,  and  was  soon  dancing  on  the  waves  raised  by  the 
southern  breeze  blowing  against  the  tide. 

Saville  was  engaged  as  usual,  directing  the  work  upon 
the  fortifications,  when  a  casual  glance  towards  the  river 
revealed  to  him  the  approaching  skiff.  Its  occupant  so 
puzzled  him  that  he  hastened  for  his  glass,  and  soon 
recognized  the  shy  maiden  who  had  eluded  him  on  the 
point  just  opposite,  and  whom  he  had  half  forgotten. 
But  now  she  seemed  coming  boldly  to  the  shore  a  little 
below  where  he  stood.  As  Vera  looked  around  and 
saw  who  it  was,  she  seemed  startled,  and  rested  on  her 
oars. 

"Are  you,  too,  afraid  of  me?"  asked  Saville  kindly. 

Her  reply  was  a  few  vigorous  strokes  which  brought 
her  boat  to  his  feet,  and  then  rising  steadily,  she  stepped 
lightly  to  the  shore,  before  he  could  offer  his  hand. 

"You  see  I  trust  you,  sir,"  she  said  simply,  as  she 
stood  tremblingly  before  him  with  downcast  eyes. 

"  And  am  I  such  an  ogre  that  you  fled  from  me  once, 
and  now  tremble  before  me  as  if  I  might  eat  you  up  ? 
Though  if  I  were  an  ogre  I  should  be  sorely  tempted  to 
fall  to  ;  for  I  doubt  if  one  ever  sat  down  to  a  daintier 
meal." 

The  young  girl's  eyes  overflowed  with  tears,  as  her 
only  reply  to  this  light  badinage. 

"You  are  in  trouble,"  said  Saville  quickly,  and  in  a 
very  different  tone. 

"Yes,"  was  all  that  Vera  could  say. 

"  Tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

Putting  her  hand  upon  her  bosom  to  still  its  wild  throb- 


LEFT  TO  NATUBE'S  CASE  99 

bing,  caused  by  embarrassment,  excitement,  and  her 
violent  exercise,  she  at  last  was  able  to  Say, 

"  Is  there— I  would  see  a  surgeon." 

"Sit  down,  my  child,  and  rest.  Do  not  be  afraid; 
you  may  trust  me  fully.  I  will  bring  the  surgeon  to 
you." 

"  I  am  much  beholden  to  you  for  your  courtesy," 
said  Vera,  naturally  falling  into  the  quaint  language  of 
the  book  with  which  she  was  so  familiar,  and  whose 
courtly  phraseology  seemed  to  her  appropriate  in  ad- 
dressing a  stranger. 

Saville  was  interested  in  the  contrast  between  her 
stately  words  and  simple,  grateful  manner,  for  she  was 
much  relieved  at  finding  that  she  need  not  face  the  stare 
of  the  garrison. 

Calling  one  of  his  men,  Saville  told  him  to  stand  guard, 
and  permit  no  one  to  approach  his  prote'gee,  and  then 
hastened  for  the  surgeon.  Neither  he  nor  the  man  who 
stood  mechanically  at  his  post,  though  with  many  a 
curious  glance  at  the  strange  visitor,  realized  that  their 
good  behavior  was  greatly  to  their  advantage  ;  for  if 
they  had  been  capable  of  anything  else,  an  unerring 
rifle  would  have  spoken  from  the  opposite  shore. 

Saville  soon  returned  with  a  stout,  burly,  but  kindly- 
featured  man,  who,  on  learning  Vera's  errand,  looked 
with  dismay  at  the  slight  skiff. 

"Look  ye  here,  my  child,"  he  said  brusquely,  "  I'm 
not  a  fairy  like  yourself,  and  can't  swim.  Did  you  imag- 
ine you  could  take  a  fully  developed  surgeon  across  the 
river  in  that  shell?  I  wouldn't  venture  in  it  for  twelve 
months'  pay  in  advance." 

Vera  turned  her  face,  full  of  distress  and  disappoint- 
ment, and  mute  appeal  to  Saville,  who  immediately  said, 
cordially, 

"That's  right ;  you  can  trust  me  to  keep  my  promise 
of  help;  so  don't  spoil  your  pretty  eyes  with  tears.  You 


100  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

can  lead  the  way  in  your  skiff,  and  I  will  take  this  heal- 
ing monster  over  in  a  pontoon  boat,  or  ship-of-the-line, 
so  that  he  be  kept  from  the  element  he  most  dreads. 
But  wait  a  moment,  and  I'll  get  you  something  that  will 
do  your  mother  more  good  than  all  his  medicines,"  and 
he  hastened  to  his  quarters,  and  brought  Vera  a  bottle 
of  French  brandy.  "There,"  he  said,  "I  put  that  in 
your  charge  ;  for  it  won't  do  to  trust  the  doctor  with  it. 
He  will  tell  your  mother  how  to  use  it,  but  do  not  let  him 
show  her." 

But  not  a  glimmer  of  a  smile  came  into  Vera's  face  at 
Saville's  light  talk.  Indeed,  it  grated  harshly  on  her 
ears,  as  she  remembered  her  mother's  critical  state. 

"Now,  cheer  up,"  added  Saville  kindly,  "  and  lead 
the  way.  If  our  good  doctor  is  helpless  on  the  water,  he 
is  skilful  on  the  land,  and  no  doubt  will  soon  restore 
your  mother  to  health." 

Vera,  whose  sore  heart  was  in  such  need  of  sympathy, 
lost  her  control  at  Saville's  kindly  tones  and  manner,  and 
bursting  into  tears,  said, 

"I  fear  mother  is  sick  unto  death;"  and  turning 
hastily  sprang  into  her  little  boat,  and  was  soon  out  in  the 
stream,  where  she  kept  the  light  craft  waiting  in  position, 
with  the  care  and  precision  of  a  water-fowl. 

Saville's  pontoon  proved  to  be  a  handsomely  modeled 
boat  of  his  own,  which  he  kept  for  his  private  pleasure  or 
for  patroling  the  river  should  occasion  require,  and  he 
soon  struck  out  vigorously  after  Vera's  guiding  skiff. 
She  led  them  to  a  point  from  which  the  ascent  to  the  cot- 
tage could  be  made  with  comparative  ease.  Saville  was 
about  to  accompany  them,  having  again  become  inter- 
ested in  the  unique  character  of  the  maiden,  and  feeling 
assured  that  if  the  cabin  was  the  hiding-place  of  crime, 
none  of  its  occupants  could  be  vulgar  criminals  ;  while 
the  thought  of  evil  was  not  to  be  entertained  in  regard  to 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CASE  101 

the  maiden.  But  Vera  arrested  his  steps,  by  saying, 
with  painful  embarrassment, 

"  Father  said  I  must  bring  no  one  save  the  surgeon." 

Saville's  quick  spirit  was  hurt,  and  he  flushed  resent- 
fully. Vera  felt  herself  cruelly  trammeled,  but  was  un- 
able to  see  how  she  could  explain  the  apparently  rude  re- 
quital of  his  kindness.  Her  troubled  face,  however, 
almost  instantly  disarmed  him,  and  he  saw  that  her 
words  were  not  at  all  prompted  by  her  own  feelings  ;  and 
when  she  suddenly  stepped  up  to  him  and  said  in  a  low 
tone, 

"'Charity  suffereth  long  and  is  kind,'  "  he  took  her 
hand  and  answered  gently, 

"Charity  also  '  thinketh  no  evil.'  You  are  a  good 
girl,  though  you  are  rather  odd.  Good-bye,  and  don't 
worry  about  me.  May  your  mother  soon  get  well." 

"And  may  God  requite  thy  kindness,"  Vera  said  so 
earnestly,  that  for  the  moment  he  felt  as  if  she  had  ap- 
pealed to  One  who  had  an  existence.  But  a  moment 
later,  after  she  was  gone,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
soliloquized, 

"  That's  the  way  it  always  is — crime  and  superstition  go 
together.  That  girl's  parents,  who  no  doubt  are  hiding 
from  the  constable,  are  very  religious,  and  have  taught 
this  poor  child  their  pious  jargon.  Still  she  seems  to 
have  the  natural  grace  to  use  it  with  skill  and  taste.  She 
is,  indeed,  very  odd,  and  her  seeming  familiarity  with  the 
two  greatest  works  of  fiction  in  the  world  is  unaccount- 
able in  one  so  young  and  isolated.  I  must  find  some 
means  of  propitiating  her  churlish  father ;  for  I  would  like 
to  pursue  this  strange  acquaintance  further." 

The  surgeon's  practiced  eye  at  once  saw  that  Vera's 
mother  was  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption,  and  to  the 
questioning  and  entreating  eyes  that  were  turned  upon 
him,  could  only  shake  his  head  and  say, 


102  NEAR  TO  NATURES  HEART 

"  Neither  I  nor  any  one  else  can  do  much  for  you, 
madam  ;  you  must  prepare  for  a  better  world." 

Vera  gave  a  faint  cry,  as  if  she  had  received  a  mortal 
wound,  and  was  about  to  give  way  to  her  grief,  when  her 
mother  restrained  her  by  saying, 

"  Be  calm,  darling,  for  my  sake.  It  is  just  as  I  sup- 
posed. Let  us  patiently  submit  to  God's  will." 

"That's  a  good  child,"  added  the  kindly  surgeon. 
"  Try  to  control  yourself  and  listen  to  me,  and  you  can 
make  your  mother's  last  days  much  easier  ;  "  and  he 
gave  full  directions,  and  left  alleviating  remedies.  "  But 
Saville  was  right,"  he  concluded,  "  the  brandy  will  do 
more  to  sustain  your  mother  at  times  than  anything  else. 
You  needn't  come  back  with  me.  I  can  find  my  way  to 
the  boat." 

The  doctor's  visit  had  not  been  so  brief  but  that  he  had 
been  much  impressed  by  the  mother's  refinement,  and 
the  appearance  of  the  cottage. 

"You  may  depend  upon  it,"  he  said  to  Saville  on  his 
return,  "  those  people  there  are  very  far  from  being  ordi- 
nary mountaineers." 

Thus  the  young  man's  interest  was  still  further  stimu- 
lated, and  he  resolved,  though  with  no  motive  of  vulgar 
curiosity,  if  possible,  to  penetrate  the  mystery. 

The  lovely  spring  day  without,  was  a  dark  and  dreary 
one  within  the  cabin,  for  the  last  hope  of  recovery  had 
vanished.  The  husband  sank  into  the  deepest  gloom, 
from  which  nothing  could  arouse  him  ;  but  he  was  un- 
wontedly  tender  and  thoughtful  of  his  wife.  From  that 
day  he  so  managed  and  provided  for  the  family  that 
Vera  could  give  all  her  time  to  the  sick-room.  But  this 
seclusion  from  her  outdoor  life,  combined  with  her  broken 
rest  and  burden  of  sorrow,  told  heavily  on  the  young 
girl,  and  she  was  beginning  to  look  almost  like  the  min- 
istering spirit  Gula  had  spoken  of.  The  mother  would 
often  urge  her  to  go  out  and  take  the  air,  but  Vera  would 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE  103 

always  reply,  in  the  pathetic  words  of  one  whom  in  sim- 
plicity and  fidelity  she  resembled,  "  Entreat  me.  not  to 
leave  thee." 

And  yet  it  was  an  unspeakable  comfort  to  the  dying 
woman  that  her  husband  so  provided  for  the  household 
as  to  leave  her  beloved  child  a  continuous  watcher  at  her 
bedside  ;  for  had  Vera  been  compelled,  as  had  often  been 
the  case  in  the  past,  to  spend  much  of  her  time  roaming 
the  hills  and  following  the  brooks  in  order  to  keep  up  a 
supply  of  food,  the  cup  of  her  bitterness  would  have  over- 
flowed. As  well  as  she  could,  in  view  of  her  own  igno- 
rance of  the  world  and  the  peculiarities  of  their  situation, 
she  tried  to  advise  and  guard  her  child  in  reference  to 
the  future. 

"  Let  your  name,"  she  said  one  day,  "  which  your 
father  gave  you  because  he  said  I  had  been  true  to  him, 
express  your  character.  Be  true  to  your  God  and  your 
faith,  be  true  to  my  poor  teachings  and  your  own  pure 
womanly  nature.  Let  the  Bible  guide  you  in  all  things, 
and  then  you  will  always  have  peace  in  your  heart,  and 
find  sympathy  in  nature  without.  But  rest  assured,  Vera, 
however  wise  and  greatly  to  your  advantage  anything 
may  seem,  if  your  Bible  is  against  it,  do  not  hesitate  to 
turn  away,  for  it  would  not  end  well.  Keep  thy  heart 
with  all  diligence.  When  it  troubles  you — when  your  old 
playmates,  the  innocent  flowers,  look  at  you  reproach- 
fully, something  will  be  wrong.  Keep  true,  my  darling, 
and  our  separation  won't  be  long.  But,  oh  ! — how  can  I 
leave  you  in  the  world,  so  unshielded  and  alone  ?  O 
thou  who  callest  thyself  a  '  covenant-keeping  God,'  fail 
not  my  child." 

Again,  at  another  time  she  said,  "  Vera,  one  of  the  most 
painful  things  in  your  future  lot  will  be  that  you  cannot 
trust  the  judgment  of  your  father.  Indeed,  you  will  have 
to  be  his  guardian  and  protector  more  truly  than  he  will 
be  yours.  Be  very  tender  and  patient  with  him,  for  my 


104  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

sake  as  well  as  from  your  own  love,  and  yet  be  firm 
when  your  own  and  his  interests  require  it.  I  do  not 
think  this  utter  seclusion  wise  or  safe.  It  will  draw  rather 
than  avert  suspicion  and  trouble." 

"  Why  does  father  shrink  so  from  strangers?  Though 
I  have  often  asked,  you  have  never  told  me  much  about 
your  old  life  in  England." 

"  Well,  my  darling,  you  must  be  content  to  know  little, 
for  your  life  will  be  burdened  enough,  I  fear,  with  your 
own  troubles,  and  I  would  not  add  to  them  those  of  the 
past.  Let  it  satisfy  you  to  know  that  your  father  met 
with  a  sudden  and  great  misfortune,  and  was  compelled 
to  leave  his  native  land.  I  loved  him,  and  followed  him, 
as  I  would  again,  if  I  were  free  to  choose.  But,  Vera,  he 
took  me  to  a  minister  of  God  before  we  left  England,  and 
with  this  plain  ring,  and  with  sacred  words,  we  were 
joined  in  holy  wedlock.  I  had  thought  to  be  buried  with 
this  ring,  but  it  can  serve  better  uses.  I  now  put  it  on 
your  hand,  as  a  kind  of  charm  against  evil.  Give  no 
man  any  rights,  Vera  ;  permit  not  even  a  caressing  touch 
from  one  that  you  may  even  love,  unless  he  will  wed  you 
with  your  dead  mother's  ring,  and  in  the  presence  of 
God's  minister,  in  accordance  with  the  teachings  of  God's 
Book."  And  she  placed  the  plain  gold  band  upon  Vera's 
finger. 

Did  not  God  inspire  the  act  ? 

Of  course  Vera  had  spoken  often  of  Saville's  kindness, 
and  the  mother  seemed  to  have  a  presentiment  that  he 
might  have  much  influence  upon  her  daughter's  destiny. 
"  I  wish  I  could  have  seen  him,  for  it  is  said  that  the 
dying  often  have  great  insight  into  character,"  she 
sighed,  one  day,  as  Vera  was  speaking  gratefully  of  his 
words  and  manner  ;  and  the  girl  deeply  regretted  that 
she  had  not  permitted  him  to  come. 

"  If  he  ever  does  seek  your  acquaintance,  find  out  if 
he  is  true,  above  all  other  things.  If  truthfulness  is 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE  105 

wanting,  you  can  depend  on  nothing  else.  I  pray  God 
that  he,  or  some  other  strong,  honest  friend  may  be 
raised  up  for  you  ;  for  when  I  remember  the  words, 
•This  region  will  soon  be  full  of  armed  men,"  my  heart 
fails  me.  I  fear  your  father's  manner  will  only  draw  sus- 
picion and  hostility." 

Thus  the  dying  mother  tried  to  counsel  Vera  against 
the  time,  when,  though  still  a  child,  she  should  be  en- 
tirely dependent  for  guidance  on  her  own  judgment  and 
conscience. 

After  all  hope  of  life  had  been  removed  by  the  surgeon's 
visit,  she  failed  quite  rapidly,  until  at  last  her  life  seemed 
but  a  breath,  that  might  cease  at  any  moment.  She  felt 
that  her  end  was  very  near,  and  one  day,  in  the  latter 
part  of  May,  would  not  permit  her  husband  to  leave  the 
house.  Still,  she  slept  most  of  the  time,  only  rousing,  now 
and  then,  to  give  the  watchers  a  faint  smile.  The  man 
sat  most  of  the  time  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands, 
overwhelmed  with  remorse  and  gloom.  But  Vera's  eyes 
were  continually  fixed  on  her  mother's  face,  as  if  she 
feared  her  treasure  might  vanish  should  she  turn  away 
an  instant. 

As  the  sun  sank  below  the  mountains,  the  sleeper 
aroused,  and  her  face  was  so  peaceful  and  painless  that 
Vera  said  : 

"  You  are  better,  mother." 

"  Yes,  darling,  I  shall  soon  be  well.  Where's  old 
Gula?" 

Vera  called  her,  and  the  aged  negress,  with  her 
wrinkled  face  working  strangely,  stood  at  her  bed- 
side. 

"  Good-bye,  Gula.  Oh  !  that  among  your  voices  you 
could  hear  that  of  our  Saviour,  saying,  '  Come  unto  me, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  I  shall  wait  and  watch  for 
you,  too,  my  poor  old  friend." 

"  You'se  will  git  home  'fore  ole  Gula,  but  I'se  a  goin' 


106  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

soon— wery  soon."  And  the  poor  old  creature  threw  her 
apron  over  her  head,  and  going  back  to  the  door-stepf 
rocked  back  and  forth,  crooning  a  low,  continuous  wail 
of  sorrow. 

"  Guy,"  said  the  wife. 

Her  husband  came  and  took  her  hand,  already  cold 
with  approaching  death.  She  fixed  her  large  and  un- 
naturally bright  eyes  upon  him  while  he  trembled  like  an 
aspen  in  his  effort  at  self-control. 

"  Guy,"  at  last  she  faltered,  "  I  left  all  things  to  follow 
you  ;  won't  you  follow  me  to  the  home  where  we  shall  be 
safe  and  at  rest  ?  " 

"  I  will  try,"  he  groaned. 

"  Be  gentle  with  Vera— be  thoughtful  of  her.  If  he 
who  so  kindly  aided  her  in  bringing  the  surgeon  comes 
again,  do  not  drive  him  away." 

The  man  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak,  but  bowed 
his  head  in  assent. 

"  Oh  !  my  husband,"  said  his  wife  in  sudden  and  pas- 
sionate earnestness,  "  I  love  you  ;  I  would  follow  you 
again  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  '  Let  not  your  heart  be 
so  troubled.'  ' 

With  a  cry  like  that  of  one  desperately  wounded,  he 
rushed  from  the  room,  exclaiming,  "  My  punishment  is 
greater  than  I  can  bear." 

Her  eyes  followed  him  with  infinite  regret  and  tender- 
ness, and  the  expression  of  her  face  must  have  been  akin 
to  that  of  Christ,  as  he  wept  over  the  doomed  and  unbe- 
lieving city.  For  a  few  moments  she  was  silent,  and  her 
lips  moved  in  prayer.  Then  she  turned,  and  took  her 
child  in  one  last  close  embrace. 

"  Vera,  darling,"  she  whispered,  "  it's  only  for  a  little 
while,  and  then  we'll  not  part  any  more.  Assurance  has 
been  given  me  that  he  who  took  into  his  arms  the  chil- 
dren that  mothers  brought  him,  and  blessed  them,  will 
take  my  place  to  you.  My  heart  is  not  troubled,  neither 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CABE  107 

is  it  afraid.  I  leave  you  in  his  charge,  and  no  one  shall 
be  able  to  pluck  you  out  of  his  hands." 

"Mother,"  said  Vera  suddenly,  "do  you  think  God 
would  permit  any  one  to  have  two  guardian  angels  ? 
Might  he  not  let  me  have  two,  at  least  till  I  find  some  one 
who  will  take  care  of  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  dear,  if  he  will,  what  then?  " 

"  It  may  be  selfish,  mother  darling,  to  ask  you  to  leave 
heaven  ;  but  God  says  in  his  Book  that  after  we  go  to 
him  we  shall  be  'like  unto  the  angels.'  If  he  will  let 
you,  would  you  mind  coming  down  sometimes  to  watch 
over  me  ?  I  shall  be  so  very,  very  lonely  without  you, 
and  if  I  thought  you  were  near  me  at  times,  it  would  be 
such  a  comfort." 

"  I  believe  he  will  let  me  come,  darling,  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  not  all  the  joy  of  heaven  could  keep  me  from 
being  continually  at  your  side.  But  whether  I  can  come 
or  not,  he  has  said,  '  I  will  never  leave  thee  nor  forsake 
thee '  ;  and  his  words  seem  very  sure  to-day." 

The  mother's  voice,  in  her  mortal  weakness,  had  sunk 
to  the  lowest  whisper. 

After  a  few  moments,  she  said,  "  Can  you  sing  me  the 
twenty-third  Psalm,  darling?  " 

Vera  had  long  before  passed  beyond  sobbing  and  tears, 
and  now  possessed  the  strange,  unnatural  calmness  of 
those  who  are  lifted  by  some  great  emergency  of  sorrow 
far  above  their  ordinary  moods  and  powers. 

Rising  from  this  last  close  embrace,  she  chanted  those 
sublime  yet  tender  words,  which  have  been  like  an  all- 
powerful  and  sustaining  hand  to  myriads  of  weary  pil- 
grims in  the  last  dark  stage  of  the  journey  home.  The 
music  was  simple  and  improvised,  but  so  sweet  and  full 
of  pathos,  that  even  her  father,  who  had  returned,  was 
calmed  and  melted  by  it,  and  sat  down  by  Vera's  side  to 
watch  and  wait  for  the  end.  The  mother's  face  was  very 
peaceful,  and  she  seemed  to  be  sleeping.  Suddenly  her 


108  NEAR  TO  NATUEE'S  HEART 

eyes  opened  wide  and  her  face  appeared  illumined  by  a 
coming  light.  Her  lips  moved,  and  Vera,  bending  over, 
heard  her  whisper, 

"  Oh,  my  Saviour,  hast  thou  deigned  to  come  thyself 
for  me  ?  '  Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord.'  ' 

Then,  as  if  remembering  those  she  was  leaving,  she 
looked  back  to  them  with  a  smile  that  Vera  never  forgot, 
for  it  seemed  spiritual  rather  than  human,  and  said  quite 
plainly, 

"  Good-bye  for  a  little  while.  All  is  well.  Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be  afraid." 

Her  breast  rose  and  fell  with  two  or  three  long  sighs, 
and  then  the  frail,  earthly  tabernacle  was  tenantless,  but 
upon  the  pallid  face  the  departed  spirit  had  left  the  im- 
press of  peace.  To  Vera,  in  her  excited  and  exalted 
state,  the  dusky  cabin  seemed  filled  with  the  rustle  of 
angels'  wings. 

"Is  she  dead?"  asked  the  husband  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"  No,"  said  Vera  gently,  "  she  is  in  heaven." 

Her  father  went  back  to  his  dark  corner,  and  sat  there 
through  the  long  night,  motionless,  sleepless,  and  scarcely 
seeming  to  breathe.  Vera,  still  holding  her  mother's  cold 
hand,  watched  mechanically,  too  stunned  and  bewil- 
dered to  think  or  to  realize  her  loss,  and  yet  sleepless 
from  excitement  and  the  long  habit  of  wakefulness.  Old 
Gula  brought  her  a  cup  of  milk,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"Now,  missy,  mind  your  mudder  jus'  de  same. 
Wouldn't  she  say  take  it  ?  "  and  Vera  drank  it  eagerly. 

The  night  deepened,  and  was  full  of  the  strange,  weird 
sounds  to  which  she  had  always  loved  to  listen,  but  she 
did  not  hear  them.  The  silent  stars  passed  over  her  head 
as  unnoted  as  the  hours.  With  the  same  steadfast  gaze 
she  looked  towards  the  dead  face,  which,  though  hidden 
by  the  darkness,  was  ever  distinctly  before  her.  At  last, 
as  the  morning  dawned,  the  face  began  to  take  shape  to 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CASE  109 

her  outward  vision.  At  first  it  was  shadowy  and  spirit- 
like,  then  that  of  a  quiet  and  peaceful  sleeper ;  but  at  last 
a  broad  ray  of  light,  streaming  through  the  casement, 
fell  full  upon  it,  giving  it  a  strange  gladness,  and  the  ef- 
fect of  recovered  youth,  health,  and  beauty.  God  seem- 
ingly transfigured  the  wasted  features,  suggesting  to  the 
desolate  young  watcher  what  had  really  taken  place  in 
the  sunny  land  "  wherein  the  inhabitant  shall  no  more 
say,  I  am  sick."  To  Vera's  strong  and  simple  faith  it 
was  like  the  vision  of  her  mother's  glory  in  heaven,  and 
the  ray  became,  and  was  ever  remembered,  as  an  angel 
of  light  and  comfort. 

Then  Gula  entered  and  said,  "  Keep  a-doin'  jus"  as 
you'se  mudder  would  like,  honey.  Go  to  de  spring  and 
bathe  your  face,  and  den  come  and  see  what  I'se  got  for 
you.'.' 

Vera  went  at  once,  and  the  cool  water,  coming  from 
the  heart  of  the  mountain,  calmed  her  feverish  excite- 
ment. She  sat  down  on  a  mossy  rock,  and  looked 
around  like  one  who  had  entered  a  new  world  and  a  new 
life,  and  could  not  yet  comprehend  it.  But  gradually  the 
familiar  sights  and  sounds  of  nature  gained  her  attention, 
and  began  to  speak  to  her  in  the  language  she  loved  and 
understood  so  well. 

"  Look  at  us,"  said  the  violets,  blooming  at  her  feet. 
"  All  last  winter  we  slept  in  seeming  death,  as  your 
mother  is  Sleeping  now  ;  but  at  the  right  time  God 
awakened  us,  and  here  we  are  to  comfort  you." 

"Look  at  me,"  said  the  bubbling  spring.  "The 
black  ice  shut  me  in,  as  the  black  earth  will  cover  your 
mother,  but  it  did  not  hurt  me  ;  and,  sparkling  again 
this  morning  as  brightly  as  ever,  I  am  here  to  comfort 
you." 

"Listen  to  us,"  said  the  birds  over  her  head.  "We 
did  not  sing  here  last  winter,  but  we  were  singing  where 
the  cold  winds  never  blow.  So  your  mother  has  only 


110  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

ftown  away  to  a  sunnier  clime,  and  we  are  here  to  com- 
fort you." 

"  Look  at  me,"  cried  the  sun,  rising  in  unclouded 
splendor  over  the  eastern  hills.  "  Do  I  not  come  back  to 
you  after  the  darkness  of  the  night  ?  So  will  he,  whose 
light  I  reflect,  shine  away  your  sorrow,  and  he  has  sent 
me  to  comfort  you." 

"Watch  me  a  little  while,"  said  a  drop  of  dew,  hang- 
ing on  a  delicate  wind-flower  that  she  had  unconsciously 
plucked  ;  "  and,  ere  you  are  aware,  the  sun  will  draw  me 
up  towards  himself  into  the  sky.  So  God  has  taken  your 
mother,  and  soon  he  will  take  you,  and  he  himself  will 
wipe  away  all  tears  and  comfort  you." 

Then,  to  the  fancy  of  the  solitary  girl,  who  had  little 
companionship  save  that  of  nature's  children,  these  voices 
all  seemed  to  join  in  a  swelling  chorus  :  \ 

"  Oh  !  trust  with  us  the  great  Creator, 

Whose  Jaw  of  love  our  love  enthralls 
Unnoted  by  our  Heavenly  Father 
Not  e'en  a  fluttering  sparrow  falls. 

"  Let  not  your  heart  be  faint  and  troubled, 

And  neither  let  it  be  afraid ; 
For  God  will  guard,  with  care  redoubled, 
The  child  in  his  own  image  made." 

Thus  the  peace  and  hopefulness  of  nature  were  breathed 
into  her  heart,  and  she  went  back  to  the  cottage,  trusting 
in  him  to  whom  all  things  seemed  to  point. 

But,  when  she  entered  the  cabin,  and  the  sleeper  did 
not  awake  with  the  wonted  smile  of  recognition  and 
words  of  welcome  ;  when  she  kissed  the  cold  lips,  and 
found  that  they  were  indeed  cold  and  unresponsive,  a 
mysterious  dread  chilled  her  own  heart,  and  the  realiza- 


LEFT  TO  NATURE'S  CARE  111 

tion  of  her  loss,  loneliness,  and  helplessness  was  so  vivid 
as  to  be  well-nigh  overwhelming. 

But  tears,  nature's  relief,  came  at  last,  and  she  wept 
and  sobbed  until  she  grew  quiet  from  exhaustion.  Then 
Gula  again  resumed  her  homely  ministry,  and  after  in- 
ducing the  stricken  orphan  to  take  a  little  food,  was  at 
last  pleased  to  see  her  escape  from  sorrow  for  a  time  in 
the  deep  oblivion  of  sleep. 

The  husband,  who  for  many  hours  had  seemed  stunned 
and  paralyzed  by  his  loss,  at  last  aroused  himself,  and 
told  Gula  that  he  would  go  with  the  skiff  up  the  river  for 
a  coffin,  and  that  it  would  be  late  before  he  returned. 
Having  taken  some  provisions,  and  leaving  the  two  dogs 
as  protection,  he  departed. 

Vera  slept  quietly  until  the  time  her  mother  had  died 
the  previous  evening,  when  something,  perhaps,  in  the 
recurring  hour  caused  her  to  start  up  as  if  called.  But 
time  had  been  given  for  her  healthful  nature  to  recuper- 
ate, and  though  the  sense  of  desolation,  all  the  more  op- 
pressive from  her  father's  absence,  was  indeed  terrible  at 
times,  she  was  able  to  resume  her  post  of  watcher  for  the 
night,  saying  to  Gula, 

"  I  will  feel  better  sitting  here  by  mother,  as  if  she  were 
still  alive,  than  I  would  anywhere  else." 

"  I'se  a  gwine  to  stay  here  wid  de  young  missy,"  said 
Gula  resolutely  ;  and  she  crouched  down  in  the  wide  fire- 
place, the  faint  flicker  of  the  flames  often  giving  a 
strange  effect  to  her  face  and  form  as  she  crooned  weird 
snatches  of  the  barbarous  music  learned  long  ago  in  her 
tropical  home. 

It  was  a  remarkable  group  :  the  mother,  once  beautiful 
and  abounding  in  hope,  now  faded  and  dead  in  the 
mountain  cabin  ;  the  exile,  the  old  African  princess,  who 
had  been  stolen  from  her  home,  and  wronged,  until  her 
mind  had  become  even  a  greater  wreck  than  her  scarred 
and  shriveled  form  ;  and  the  young  maiden,  who  was  like 


112  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

some  of  her  favorite  mountain  flowers,  that  grew  into 
fragrant  loveliness  among  rocks  and  cliffs,  where  it  would 
seem  they  could  scarcely  live  at  all. 

The  night  deepened,  and  it  may  be  well  believed  that 
other  and  viewless  watchers  gathered  round  the  sorrow- 
stricken  girl. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS 

As  the  lovely  spring  day,  which  had  brought  to  Vera 
a  brief  respite  from  her  sorrow,  was  drawing  to  a  close,  a 
man  might  have  been  seen  issuing  from  a  log  cabin  lo- 
cated among  the  mountains  west  of  the  Hudson,  and  at 
a  considerable  distance  from  the  river.  His  manner  was 
brisk  and  decided,  as  if  he  were  looking  forward  to  the 
labors  from  which,  in  view  of  the  hour,  he  should 
naturally  be  returning.  His  house  was  built  very  strongly, 
and  appeared  as  if  it  might  be  used  as  a  refuge  and  de- 
fense, as  well  as  a  dwelling.  The  place  had  a  certain 
rude  air  of  thrift,  and  yet  there  was  nothing  to  indicate 
from  whence  the  owner's  revenue  came.  There  was  no 
cleared  and  arable  land  near,  and  certainrf  the  beautiful 
horse,  that  cropped  the  grass  in  the  small  inclosure 
around  the  cabin,  had  never  served  as  one  of  a  wood- 
man's team. 

The  man's  action  was  still  more  irreconcilable  with 
any  peaceful  pursuit ;  for  he  rapidly  ascended  the  lofty 
hill  back  of  his  house,  which  was  one  of  a  succession  of 
wooded  highlands,  stretching  away  towards  the  river,  and 
having  gained  the  summit,  scanned  the  valley  to  the 
westward,  giving  especial  attention  to  some  object  far 
distant  upon  the  road  leading  southward. 

As  he  stood  there,  partially  concealing  himself  among 
the  low  trees,  glass  in  hand,  we  may  sketch  him  briefly. 
He  was  a  little  past  middle  age,  tall,  and  most  powerfully 
built  ;  his  quick  movements,  however,  adding  an  impres- 
sion of  lightness  and  something  like  grace  to  that  of 


114  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

strength.  The  aspect  of  his  face  was  bold,  even  to  reck- 
lessness.  He  had  the  bearing  of  one  gifted  with  unlim- 
ited natural  daring,  rather  than  the  calm,  patient  courage 
which  would  lead  a  man  to  die  at  his  post.  His  restless 
black  eyes  had  the  habit  of  glancing  rapidly  from  side  to 
side,  as  if  he  were  on  a  perpetual  reconnoissance.  The 
light  that  came  from  them  was  not  the  diabolical  gleam 
of  those  who  know  themselves  to  be  villains,  but  rather 
the  keen,  alert  expression  often  seen  in  beasts  of  prey. 
There  was  scarcely  anything  to  indicate  the  presence  of 
a  moral  nature.  The  eagle,  perched  upon  his  eyrie, 
scanning  the  valley  to  see  where  he  could  swoop  down  to 
the  best  advantage,  would  be  the  most  correct  type  of 
this  man,  Claudius  Smith  by  name,  and  the  terror  of 
the  whole  region,  during  the  early  years  of  the  Revolu- 
tion. 

Apparently  satisfied  by  his  scrutiny,  he  went  rapidly 
back  among  the  hills,  instead  of  returning  to  his  own 
house.  Within  less  than  half  an  hour  he  reached  a  se- 
cluded glen..  Before  descending  this,  he  again  took  an 
observation — not  of  the  exquisite  landscape,  with  valleys 
lying  in  shadow,  and  rugged  highlands  aglow  with  the 
setting  sun,  and  all  decked  in  the  tender  and  tinted  foli- 
age of  May.  The  gleam  of  a  rifle  barrel  would  catch 
Smith's  eye  instantly,  but  the  perception  of  beauty  was 
not  in  his  line. 

Again  everything  appeared  satisfactory,  and  he  de- 
scended the  hillside  nearly  to  its  base,  and  then,  instead 
of  giving  the  conventional  signal  of  thrice  whistling,  he 
imitated  with  marvelous  exactness  the  neigh  of  a  horse. 
A  flat  stone,  quite  hidden  by  some  copse-wood  near 
where  he  stood,  was  thrown  back,  and  eight  men  emerged, 
as  it  were,  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  the  leader 
and  his  band  were  together. 

"  It's  all  right,  boys,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "  I  watched 
the  squad  of  militia  till  they  disappeared  to  the  southeast. 


THE  ROSIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS      115 

The  coast  is  clear.  Meet  me,  mounted  and  armed,  at  my 
house  within  an  hour  ;  "  and  with  the  lightness  and  celerity 
of  movement  that  characterized  him,  he  vanished  among 
the  trees. 

His  men  well  understood  their  part,  and  were  seem- 
ingly glad  to  be  released  from  confinement.  The  pres- 
ence of  soldiery  in  the  neighborhood  made  the  resort  to 
this  hiding-place  (of  which  they  had  several  in  the  moun- 
tains) a  precaution  which  their  leader  insisted  on,  for  this 
Tory  gang  had  already  become  so  notorious  that  parties 
had  attempted  their  capture.  After  carefully  covering 
the  mouth  of  the  cave,  they  went  to  their  secluded  moun- 
tain homes,  or  where  their  horses  were  in  hiding,  and 
within  the  time  named,  were  reassembled  at  Smith's 
house,  armed  and  mounted  in  true  moss-trooper  style. 

Never  was  a  group  of  Italian  bandits  among  the  Apen- 
nines more  picturesque  and  suggestive  of  ruthless  deeds 
than  these  highland  Tories  and  Cowboys  ;  and  not  a 
classic  brigand  of  them  all  was  more  unscrupulous. 

They  were  all  dressed  somewhat  as  their  leader,  in  red 
flannel  shirts  and  short  coats,  which  could  be  buttoned 
tightly  or  hang  oose  like  a  cavalryman's  jacket.  Buck- 
skin breeches,  and  topboots  armed  with  spurs,  completed 
their  simple  attire  ;  but  their  leathern  belts  bristled  with 
weapons,  while  across  each  one's  back  was  slung  a  short 
musket.  Though  little  more  than  midnight  plunderers, 
they  were  ever  prepared  for  desperate  fighting,  should 
the  emergency  require  it.  As  they  hastily  devoured  the 
rude  meal  which  the  wife  of  their  leader  had  prepared, 
they  certainly  were  a  savage-looking  crew,  with  their  un- 
shaven faces,  and  eyes  gleaming  out  from  under  slouched 
hats,  which  they  had  not  the  grace  to  remove. 

But  of  their  horses,  the  beautiful  and  innocent  ac- 
complices of  their  crimes,  too  much  could  scarcely  be 
said  in  the  way  of  praise.  And  little  wonder,  for  the 
freebooters  had  taken  the  pick  of  the  whole  countryside. 


116  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

The  splendid  and  spirited  beasts  made  the  quiet  evening 
resonant  with  their  neighing,  as  they  impatiently  pawed 
the  earth  while  waiting  for  their  ignoble  masters. 

At  last,  in  the  dusky  twilight,  the  men  formed  a  circle 
about  the  door,  and  Claudius  Smith  held  aloft  a  flask  of 
whiskey,  as  he  cried, 

"  Here's  to  a  big  night's  work  ;  "  and  he  took  a  heavy 
draught. 

"  Tip  it  well,  boys,"  he  added  ;  "  for  you've  plenty  of 
rough,  hard  riding  before  you,  and  mayhap  some  fight- 
ing." 

A  shout  greeted  this  announcement,  and  the  flask  was 
drained,  'and  filled  again  for  the  emergencies  of  the  night. 

Slinging  their  muskets  over  their  shoulders,  they  sprang 
lightly  into  their  saddles,  and  were  soon  following  Smith 
along  a  rough  road  which  skirted  a  mountainside. 
Where  the  road  was  rough  and  precipitous,  they  walked 
their  horses  ;  but  at  times  they  would  break  into  a  sud- 
den gallop  over  level  reaches,  showing  that  they  knew 
every  inch  of  the  way.  At  last  they  descended  to  the 
valley,  and  struck  out  rapidly  across  the  open  country, 
till  they  approached  a  secluded  farmhouse,  where,  draw- 
ing rein,  they  entered  the  gateway,  and  surrounded  the 
dwelling. 

"  This  is  the  right  kind  of  a  Whig,  boys,  for  he's  got  a 
pile  of  hard  money  stowed  away  somewheres  ;  so  don't 
let  him  escape.  Bring  him  out,  Cole." 

The  man  thus  addressed  dismounted,  and  taking  from 
the  adjacent  wood-pile  a  log  of  wood,  crashed  in  the  door, 
thus  rudely  arousing  their  victim  from  his  slumbers. 

"  If  you  want  to  save  your  life,  come  out  and  speak  to 
me,"  shouted  Smith  ;  "  but  if  you  pull  a  trigger  you  are., 
a  dead  man.  You  know  Claud  Smith." 

The  wretched  farmer  knew  him  only  too  well,  and 
called,  "  I'll  come  as  soon  as  I  get  my  clothes  on." 

"  No    matter    about    your    clothes.     We    ain't   over 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS      117 

modest,  and  it's  not  women  you've  got  to  deal  with,  I 
can  tell  yer." 

The  man,  partially  dressed,  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
with  face  so  pale  that  it  looked  white  even  in  the  star- 
light. 

"Now,"  continued  Smith,  "  I've  got  two  things  agin 
you.  Fust,  you're  a  Whig  ;  and  second,  you're  hoardin' 
up  money  that  others  need  more'n  you  do.  If  you  want 
me  to  let  yer  off  on  the  first  offense,  you  must  bring  out 
every  shiner  you've  got." 

"  Now,  Smith,"  began  the  man  tremblingly,  "  you  are 
entirely  mistaken.  I  haven't  got  any " 

"  Stop  your  jaw,"  said  the  robber  coarsely.  "  A  man 
that's  so  near  eternity  as  you  be  ought  to  look  out  how  he 
lies." 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  haven't " 

"  String  him  up,  boys  ;  we'll  help  his  memory." 

They  were  provided  with  a  rope  for  such  style  of  per- 
suasion, and  throwing  it  over  the  well-sweep,  they  fast- 
ened it  around  the  neck  of  their  victim,  and  lifted  him  off 
his  feet  for  a  moment. 

"  Can  you  remember  where  it  is  now  ?  "  asked  Smith 
unfeelingly. 

But  they  had  misjudged  their  man,  for  he  had  that 
kind  of  passive  courage  and  obstinacy  which  rises  up 
against  outrage,  and  is  strong  to  endure.  Moreover,  his 
gold  was  his  heart's  treasure,  and  he  doggedly  resolved 
to  part  with  life  first ;  so  he  said, 

"  I  know  you,  Smith ;  you've  no  more  feeling  than  a 
stone.  I  expect  you'll  take  my  life  anyway,  but  you 
shan't  have  my  money." 

"  Oh  !  you  want  some  more  persuasion,  do  you?  Up 
with  him  again,  boys." 

They  kept  him  struggling  and  strangling  as  long  as 
they  dared  and  still  preserve  the  breath  of  life,  and  then 
let  his  feet  rest  on  the  ground. 


lie  NEAR  TO 

"  Now  you  see  how  mistaken  you  are,  and  how  tender- 
hearted I  am.  Here  I've  given  you  another  chance  for 
life  )  but  be  quick,  for  this  is  only  the  beginning  of  our 
night's  work/' 

"  No,"  gasped  the  man  doggedly. 

"No?  curse  you!  I'll  soon  change  that  tune.  Up 
vrith  him  again." 

With  oaths  and  ribald  revilings,  the  bandits,  whose 
dusky  figures  seemed  those  of  demons,  obeyed  the  dia- 
bolical order.  When  they  again  let  him  down,  the  farmer 
was  unable  to  stand  ;  but,  in  response  to  their  kicks  and 
questions,  he  maintained  an  obstinate  silence. 

"Shall  we  string  him  up  and  leave  him?"  asked 
Cole. 

Smith  hesitated,  and  for  a  moment  the  man's  life  de- 
pended on  the  caprice  of  the  bandit's  lawless  will. 

Then  he  said,  c&relessly, 

"  No,  let  him  alone,  I  rather  like  his  grit,  and  I've 
nothing  agin  him.  If  I  had,  old  feller,  I  wouldn't  even 
give  you  time  to  say  your  prayers.  Let  us  look  for  our- 
selves, boys.  Mayhap  we'll  find  enough  to  pay  us  for 
coming  out  of  our  way." 

The  victim  crawled  to  his  door-step,  on  which  he  sat  in 
Sullen  silence  while  they  ransacked  his  house  in  no  gentle 
Style>  breaking  their  way  where  locks  resisted.  But  the 
farmer  had  concealed  his  coin  too  well  for  discovery.  In 
Order  to  spite  him,  however,  they  carried  off  many  valu- 
able papers,  and  all  light  articles  of  value  on  which  they 
Could  lay  their  hands,  and  with  the  parting  salutation  of 
A.  kick  to  their  half-murdered  host,  they  vanished  in  the 
darkness  as  rapidly  as  they  had  come. 

The  inmates  Of  farmhouses  and  cabins  trembled  as  they 
clattered  by,  but  they  were  safe  for  that  night,  as  the 
next  point  at  which  Smith  meant  to  strike  was  far  distant. 
It  was  a  part  of  his  policy  to  mislead  and  bewilder  the 
authorities  by  depredations  so  far  apart  as  to  make  it 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS   U9 

seem  impossible  that  he  and  his  gang  were  the  authors  in 
each  case. 

Their  long1,  swinging  gallop  soon  brought  them  to  the 
mountains  again,  and  for  an  hour  they  slowly  ascended 
the  precipitous  sides ;  then,  like  the,  wind,  they  crossed  a 
level  plateau,  and  afterwards  continued  through  wild  and 
unfrequented  roads  known  to  few  save  themselves,  find- 
ing breathing  places  for  their  horses  when  the  ascent  or 
descent  was.  steep.  In  about  three  hours  they  com- 
menced defiling  down  what  was  Uule  more  than  a  path, 
from  various  points  of  which  the.  gleam,  of  the  Hudson 
River  could  he  seen  in  the;  starlight.  The  way  was 
rough  and  rocky,  but  their  horses  had  been  trained  for 
their  work  by  many  similar  expeditions.  At  last  they 
djrew  near  the  recently  commenced  military  works  at 
Fort  Montgomery,  and  their  approach  became,  quiet  and 
stealthy. 

"  We  must  captures  one  of  the  garrison,"  said  Smith  ; 
"  for  if  we  can  send  a  full  account  of  what  the  Whigs  are 
doing  here,  our  Tory  friends,  in  the  city  will,  pay  us  well 
for  it." 

Leaving  their  horses  in  a  clump  of  dark.,  overshadow- 
ing trees,  with  several  of  the  party  in  charge,  Smith  and 
three  others,  cautiously  re.connoitered.  on  foot  until  they 
reached  the  unfinished  line  of  the  works,.  Stealing  a.k>n$ 
this  a  little  distance,  their  steps  were  soon  arrested  by  a 
slight  sound.  Listening  intently  for  a  few  moments,  Smith 
turned  and  whispered  succinctly, 

"It's  some  cuss,  asleep.    Leave  him  to  me.." 

Advancing  cautiously  a  few  steps  further,  he  saw  the 
faint  outline  of  a  sentinel  leaning  against  a  small  tree, 
with  his  hands  crossed  on  the  muz?le  of  a  musket,  above 
which  a  bayonet  gleamed*  The  Tory,  quick  at  ex- 
pedients, instantly  formed  a  plan  for  his  capture.  Sum- 
moning his  three-  comrades,  he  directed  them  how  to. 
support  his  undertaking.  He  then  took  from  one  of 


120  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

them  his  leather  belt,  and  stole  noiselessly  up  behind  the 
tree  against  which  his  victim  was  leaning,  and  whose 
nasal  organ  made  the  night  anything  but  musical. 
Then,  like  a  flash,  he  threw  the  belt  around  both  tree  and 
man,  and  secured  his  prisoner  by  drawing  the  buckle  tight. 

"  Och,  Molly,  me  darlint,  hold  on  a  bit.  Bloody 
blazes  !  what's " 

Smith's  hand  stopped  further  utterance,  and  then  a 
handkerchief  was  tied  securely  over  his  mouth.  The 
other  bandits  came  up,  and  before  the  unwary  sentinel 
(who  was  no  other  than  the  unfortunate  Larry,  and  whose 
faculty  of  getting  into  trouble  never  deserted  him)  was 
fairly  awake,  he  was  bound  and  spirited  away,  giving  the 
garrison  he  was  set  to  guard  no  other  warning  than  the 
remonstrance  which  Molly's  sharp  tongue  and  heavy 
hand  had  made  habitual. 

When  they  reached  the  secluded  spot  where  the  others 
were  in  waiting,  Smith  put  a  pistol  to  Larry's  head,  and 
said, 

"  Now  speak  low,  and  speak  to  the  point,  if  you  ever 
want  to  speak  again.  Answer  my  questions ;  I  can  tell 
whether  you  are*  lying  or  not.  At  your  first  lie  my  men 
will  cut  your  juggler."  And  removing  the  handkerchief, 
he  asked  rapidly  about  the  number  of  the  garrison  and 
the  nature  of  the  work. 

Larry's  discretion  preserved  him  to  die  for  his  country 
upon  a  more  auspicious  occasion,  and  he  answered  as 
well  as  his  chattering  teeth  would  permit.  Smith  was 
soon  convinced  that  he  had  drawn  from  him  all  he  knew, 
and  then  said  coolly, 

"  Now  you  are  going  to  desert,  you  know.  If  I  should 
kill  you  and  leave  you  here,  it  might  make  me  trouble. 
You  will  have  to  disappear,  and  make  your  cursed  Whig 
commander  believe  that  you  have  gone  off  to  parts  un- 
known. We  shall  have  to  take  you  with  us  till  we  find  a 
good  place  for  you  to  desert  in." 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS      121 

These  words  had  such  a  mysterious  import  that  Larry 
resolved  to  make  a  desperate  effort  to  escape.  But  his 
hands  were  tied  behind  his  back,  and  the  rope  they  had 
used  on  the  farmer  was  about  his  neck,  with  which 
they  hustled  him  along  as  they  resumed  their  march 
northward,  tending  towards  the  river  bank. 

"  Sure  an'  ye'  re  not  goin*  to  murther  me  ? ' '  gasped  Larry. 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  that's  about  it,  in  plain  English,"  said 
Smith. 

"  Surely  ye'll  not  shed  innocent  blood  ?  " 

"  Your  blood  isn't  innocent.  In  the  first  place,  you're 

a Whig  ;  in  the  second  place,  you  were  sleeping 

on  your  post,  and  your  own  officers  would  shoot  you  for 
that  to-morrow ;  at  least  they  ought  to,  and  we'll  save 
them  the  trouble." 

"What  are  yees  goin' to  do  wid  me?"  asked  Larry 
hoarsely. 

"  Oh,  put  you  quietly  out  of  the  way,  where  you  will 
do  no  harm,"  said  Smith,  who  rather  enjoyed  Larry's 
terror.  "  They  say  dead  men  tell  no  tales  ;  but  it's  an  in- 
fernal lie.  There  are  times  when  I  don't  want  either 
dead  or  live  men  on  my  trail." 

Larry  was  now  satisfied  that  if  he  ever  saw  Molly  again 
he  must  act  promptly,  and  with  almost  superhuman 
strength  he  tugged  at  the  cord  that  bound  his  hands. 
With  a  thrill  of  hope  he  was  at  last  able  to  draw  one 
hand  out  of  its  confinement,  and  thus  relieved  them  both, 
but  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  keep  them  together  as  be- 
fore, so  that  their  freedom  was  unnoted,  and  continued 
on  a  little  further  with  the  gang,  till  they  came  to  where 
a  steep  bank  shelved  down  into  the  darkness  on  one  side 
of  the  road.  Then,  with  the  celerity  which  his  desperate 
emergency  prompted,  he  drew  his  knife,  cut  the  rope 
around  his  neck,  and  bounded  over  the  bank,  rolling, 
tumbling,  springing,  he  knew  not  whither,  in  the  mad 
desire  to  get  away. 


122  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  BE  ART 

For  a  moment  his  captors  were  so  astonished  that  they 
did  not  move  ;  then  Smith  Cried, 

"  Don't  shoot.  After  him  ;  Cut  his  throat,  and  hide 
his  body." 

Two  of  the  most  active  sprang  from  their  horses,  and 
commenced  descending  the  rocky,  precipitous  bank. 
But  Larry  had  the  start,  and  his  pursuers  were  not  will- 
ing to  go  at  his  breakneck  pace.  For  a  wonder,  he 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  ravine  sound  in  limb,  and 
darted  off  in  the  darkness  among  the  concealing  copse- 
wood,  soon  becoming  utterly  lost  to  view.  The  baffled 
brigands  gave  up  the  chase,  and  returned,  grumbling 
and  swearing,  to  their  horses.  Nor  were  their  ruffled 
tempers  soothed  by  the  volley  of  Curses  received  from 
their  leader. 

"  I  could  have  shot  him  if  you  hadn't  stopped  me," 
said  Cole. 

"  Yes,  and  br&ught  the  garrison  clattering  after  us.  I 
had  other  work  on  Viand  before  I  crossed  the  mountains, 
and  I  won't  be  balked  either  ;  so  Come."  And  away 
like  a  thundergust  they  sped  to  work  destruction  else- 
where. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  Larry  regained 
his  post,  and  found,  to  his  joy,  that  the  time  for  the  relief 
of  guard  had  not  come.  Dodging  around  in  shadow,  he 
reached  his  quarters,  and  awakened  Molly  as  roughly  as 
he  had  imagined  she  was  rousing  him  when  the  Tory 
pinioned  him  to  the  tree. 

"  Bloody  murther  !  "  spluttered  Molly. 

"  Hist,  or  I'll  throttle  ye.  It's  me — Larry.  If  ye  don't 
want  to  see  me  shot  in  the  mornin',  git  me  a  musket  in  a 
wink." 

"  Faix,  an'  I'll  shoot  ye  meself,  if  ye  don't  be  quiet. 
Ye've  been  drinkin'." 

"  Now,  Molly,  me  darlint,  I'll  tell  ye  all  in  the 
mornin'  ;  but  if  ye  don't  stale  out  an'  git  me  a  musket, 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS      123 

I'm  the  same  as  a  dead  man.  They  won't  mind  yees  if 
ye  is  seen,  but  if  they  cotch  me,  it's  all  up.  Don't  ye 
see?  I'm  off  me  post.  I've  been  robbed  and  murthered, 
an'  to-morry  I'll  be  shot.  Yees  can  stale  to  the  armory 
an'  git  me  one  in  a  jiffy.  Go  quick,  or  I'll  haunt  ye  all 
yer  days." 

This  dire  threat  roused  Molly  to  action,  and  she  now 
began  to  realize,  from  Larry's  desperate  earnestness,  that 
the  emergency  was  pressing.  Her  husband  threw  a  gray 
blanket  around  her,  and  with  bare  feet  and  noiseless 
tread,  she  slipped  to  a  forge  near  by,  where  arms  were 
repaired,  and  soon  returned,  saying, 

"There,  now,  look  to  yerself,  for  I  don't  want  to  be 
bothered  wid  ye  after  ye' re  dead."  A  moment  later 
Larry  was  back  to  his  post,  where  he  stood,  straight  as  a 
ramrod,  often  rubbing  his  eyes,  to  make  sure  it  was  not 
all  ?  dream.  But  his  torn  clothes,  aching  wrists,  and 
bruised  limbs  proved  the  reality  of  his  strange  experience, 
and  he  was  only  too  glad  that  the  loose  discipline  of 
the  incipient  fort  had  enabled  him  to  gain  his  beat  with- 
out detection.  When,  a  little  later,  the  officer  of  the 
guard  came  around  with  his  squad,  Larry  challenged  him 
with  great  promptness,  and  went  rejoicing  to  his  quarters 
with  an  encomium  on  his  vigilance.  But  his  tale  was  so 
strange  that  Molly  would  not  believe  it,  and  her  only 
comment  was, 

"  I  thought  ye'd  be  mare-ridden  afther  the  supper  ye 
ate.  Ye'd  better  find  that  firelock  in  the  mornin'." 

But  when,  in  the  morning,  she  saw  his  wrists  and 
bruises,  and  the  gaps  in  his  clothes  which  she  must 
mend,  she  consoled  him  by  saying, 

"  Och,  ye  spalpeen !  it  was  the  divil  himself  as  had 
ye  ;  better  mend  yer  ways." 

Larry  shook  his  head,  but  resolved  that  he  would  put 
chestnut  burrs  in  his  shoes  before  he  slept  on  his  post 
again. 


124  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Smith  and  his  followers  soon  reached  the  vicinity  of 
the  lonely  log-cabin  back  of  West  Point,  where  Vera 
was  keeping  her  patient  watch.  As  they  struck  up  the 
glen  leading  to  the  dwelling,  Cole  sidled  up  to  his  leader, 
and  said, 

"  Claud,  you're  not  goin'  to  Brown's?  " 

"  Yes,  1  am.     Why  not  ?  " 

"Well,"  continued  the  superstitious  robber,  "they 
say  everything  is  not  right  there,  and  that  the  old  black 
witch  as  lives  with  them  can  do  with  a  feller  just  what 
she  pleases.  I'm  not  afraid  of  flesh  and  blood,  but  our 
weapons  ain't  o'  much  account  agin  the  devil." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  man  or  devil,"  said  Smith  surlily. 
"  They  say  there's  a  lot  of  hard  money  hid  in  that  cabin, 
and  I'm  not  goin'  home  empty-handed,  after  such  a  ride 
as  we've  had  to-night." 

Cole's  words,  however,  oppressed  the  mind  of  the 
leader,  for  superstition  is  rarely  divorced  from  ignorance 
and  crime.  He  also  saw  that  Cole's  fear  was  shared  by 
the  rest  of  the  gang  ;  so  he  caused  them  to  halt,  and 
passed  around  the  flask  of  whiskey  again.  Under  this 
stimulus  they  advanced,  and  were  glad  to  hear  sounds 
that  were  earthly,  as  the  great  dogs  bounded  fiercely 
towards  them.  Two  shots  in  quick  succession  dispatched 
them,  and  after  their  dying  whine  ceased,  all  was  still — 
it  seemed  to  them  strangely  and  unnaturally  still.  They 
supposed  the  owner  of  the  cabin  would  appear,  but  there 
was  not  a  sound. 

Smith  took  another  pull  at  the  flask,  and  then  ap- 
proached the  door,  but  the  same  oppressive  silence  con- 
tinued ;  a  dread  and  restraint  that  he  could  not  under- 
stand chilled  his  heart,  and  the  fire  that  flickered  on  the 
hearth  filled  the  cabin,  as  seen  through  the  windows, 
with  fitful  and  fantastic  shadows. 

"Come  away,  Claud,"  muttered  his  companions; 
"  this  is  no  place  for  us." 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS       125 

But  the  hardihood  of  the  man  prevailed.  Taking  an- 
other fiery  draught,  he  cocked  his  pistol,  and  went 
straight  to  the  door  and  knocked. 

There  was  no  response. 

He  lifted  the  latch,  and  it  yielded  to  him.  Stepping 
within,  he  stood  transfixed.  Gleaming  out  upon  him 
from  where  she  crouched  by  the  fireplace  was  the  weird, 
unearthly  visage  of  old  Gula,  whose  fixed  gaze  of  terror 
was  to  him  a  Gorgon  stare.  More  awful  to  the  guilty 
soul  was  the  white,  dead  face  turned  towards  him  from 
the  bed.  Vera  knelt  by  her  mother  with  clasped  hands 
and  eyes  turned  heavenward,  and  her  beauty,  pallor,  and 
attitude  gave  her  a  spiritual  rather  than  an  earthly  aspect. 
But  not  a  sound  broke  the  silence  that  had  now  become 
awful  to  the  man  of  blood,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  could  not  break  the  spell  himself.  A  jet  of  flame 
leaped  up  suddenly  from  the  hearth,  and  the  strange 
inmates  of  the  cabin  seemed  to  dilate  as  if  in  supernat- 
ural light.  A  panic  seized  upon  the  robber.  He  turned 
upon  his  heel,  and,  without  a  word,  sprang  upon  his 
horse  and  galloped  away  with  his  trembling  companions  ; 
nor  did  they  draw  rein  till  far  up  among  the  mountains. 
Speaking  of  it  afterwards,  Smith  said  it  seemed  to  him 
as  if  a  great  hand  took  him  by  the  shoulder  and  thrust 
him  out. 

At  the  first  fierce  clamor  of  the  dogs,  Vera  felt  a  sudden 
shock  of  terror,  which  the  firing  increased  ;  but  her  train- 
ing and  her  own  instincts  led  her  to  lift  her  heart  at  once 
to  God.  Then  came  the  impulse  to  trust  him  only,  and 
stepping  to  the  door,  she  unbarred  it,  and  then  knelt  by  her 
mother's  side,  in  which  attitude  she  remained  until  the 
clatter  of  the  flying  bandits  died  away.  When  she  arose, 
she  said, 

"  '  Fear  not,'  Gula,  '  for  they  that  be  with  us  are  more 
than  they  that  be  with  them.'  If  God  should  open  our 
eyes  as  he  did  the  eyes  of  the  young  servant  of  Elisha, 


126  NEAR  TO  NATURE1  S  HEART 

we,  too,  would  see  that  '  the  mountain  is  full  of  horses 
and  chariots  of  fire  round  about'  us." 

"  Your  God  seems  mighty  po'ful,"  said  the  negress, 
with  awe  in  tone  and  manner,  "  but  Gula's  too  ole  to  be 
changin'  Gods  at  her  time  o'  life.  De  captain  ob  de 
floatin'  misery  dat  brought  me  from  my  home,  and  de 
mas'r  dat  used  to  whip  my  ole  dead  body,  sot  great  store 
by  your  God,  and  was  allus  axin'  him  to  damn  folks, 
whatever  dat  was ;  and  I'se  afeard  if  I  should  pray  to 
him  he'd  take  me  to  whare  old  mas'r  is,  and  I  doesn't 
want  to  see  him  no  mo'.  I  wants  to  go  back  to  my  ole 
home." 

Vera  sighed  deeply,  for  Gula's  harsh  experience, 
which  she  could  not  fail  to  associate  with  the  Divine 
name  that  she  heard  so  often,  raised  perplexing  questions. 
But  after  a  little  the  young  girl  said  thoughtfully, 

"  I  do  not  think  your  old  master  will  be  where  mother 
is.  God  does  not  mix  winter  and  summer  together.  No 
more  will  he  join  the  cruel  and  brutal  with  the  loving  and 
gentle.  Suppose  my  God  should  take  you  to  where 
mother  is?" 

Old  Gula  shook  her  head,  saying,  "  I'd  like  po'ful  well 
to  see  old  missus,  an'  p'raps  dey'd  let  me  visit  her.  But 
I  doesn't  want  to  take  no  risks  ob  meetin'  ole  mas'r  agin, 
and  I  does  want  to  see  my  ole  home.  Oh  !  dat  I  might 
go  dis  minute." 

With  such  quaint,  unearthly  talk  the  Christian  maiden, 
who  was  scarcely  more  than  a  child,  and  the  pagan  slave 
beguiled  the  heavy  hours.  In  their  beliefs,  as  in  their  ap- 
pearance, there  was  seemingly  wide  diversity  ;  but  in  the 
only  kinship  that  is  abiding — that  of  love — and  in  God's 
eyes  they  were  not  so  far  apart  as  many  who  bow  to- 
gether at  his  altar.  The  fathomless  chasm  of  evil  did 
not  divide  them,  and  perhaps  at  last  old  Gula  would  find 
her  tropical  home  so  blended  with  Vera's  paradise  as  to 
be  content. 


THE  ROBIN  HOOD  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS      127 

NOTE  TO  PRECEDING  CHAPTER. — Claudius  Smith  is  not  a 
fictitious  character,  but  was  once  the  terror  of  the  region  adja- 
cent to  the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson.  The  robbery  of  the 
farmer  actually  took  place  as  described,  and  is  only  antedated 
little  more  than  a  year.  When  Smith  was  hung  at  Goshen, 
N.  Y.,  January  22d,  1779,  this  farmer  asked  Smith  where  valu- 
able papers  he  had  stolen  were. 

"  Meet  me  in  the  next  world  and  I  will  tell  you,"  was  the 
grim  reply. 

His  tall  and  splendid  form,  arrayed  in  rich  broadcloth  with 
silver  buttons,  combined  with  his  fearless  and  almost  manly 
bearing,  made  him  an  imposing  figure  on  the  scaffold ;  and 
even  in  the  hour  of  death  he  inspired  something  like  dread  and 
respect  in  the  vast  throng  that  witnessed  his  exit.  His  deep 
depravity,  or,  perhaps,  more  correctly  speaking,  his  lack  of  a 
moral  nature,  was  shown  at  the  last  moment  by  a  characteristic 
act.  Just  before  he  was  hung  he  "  kicked  off  his  shoes,"  with 
the  brutal  remark, 

"  Mother  often  said  I  would  die  like  a  trooper's  horse  with 
wiy  shoes  on ;  but  I  will  make  her  a  liar." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   MOTHER   STILL   PROTECTS    HER   CHILD 

THE  winter  had  passed  rather  drearily  and  unsatisfac- 
torily to  Saville.  The  garrison  at  Constitution  Island  was 
small,  and  the  works  on  the  fortifications  advanced 
slowly.  Although  his  education  as  an  engineer  had  been 
superficial,  he  was  satisfied  that  Colonel  Romans' 
draughts  and  lines  of  defense  were  very  defective,  and 
that  time  and  money  were  spent  to  little  purpose.  More- 
over, his  visits  to  the  western  shore,  and  bis  excursions 
after  game,  had  shown  him  that  the  island  was  over- 
looked and  commanded  by  more  advantageous  points. 
But  his  frank  statements  to  this  effect  had  not  won  him 
favor  with  his  superior  officers,  who  were  ignorant  and 
incompetent,  and  had  more  than  humanity's  average 
dislike  for  criticism.  Moreover,  Saville  was  so  often 
faulty  in  the  details  of  his  profession  as  to  be  frequently 
open  to  censure  himself,  and  his  prospects  of  promotion 
were  not  very  flattering.  He  would  have  much  preferred 
active  service  in  the  presence  of  the  enemy  ;  but  such 
was  the  dearth  of  engineers  that  he  was  kept  at  labors 
much  too  peaceful  for  his  fiery  spirit. 

He  had,  besides,  another  cause  for  dissatisfaction  and 
uneasiness,  which  also  increased  his  unpopularity  in  cer- 
tain quarters.  It  was  impossible  for  one  of  his  frank  and 
outspoken  nature  to  nurse  his  unbelief  in  silence.  He 
even  felt  it  a  privilege  and  a  duty  to  advocate  the  new 
ideas  acquired  abroad,  and  soon  had  quite  a  following  of 
young  and  unstable  men,  to  whom  he  often  discoursed 
in  his  glowing  style  on  what  he  termed  "  the  absurd  and 
antiquated  beliefs  and  systems  of  the  past,  originated  by 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    129 

shrewd  old  schemers  who  constructed  and  maintained 
them  for  their  own  advantage.  They  had  been  imposed 
upon  men  in  times  of  general  ignorance, "^he  said  ;  "  but 
the  age  had  come  when  men  would  use  their  reason,  and 
break  away  from  the  tyranny  of  custom  and  the  trammels 
of  superstition.  Man  should  be  true  to  himself,  and  obey 
the  laws  which  he  found  existing  in  his  own  nature, 
instead  of  trembling  before  an  imaginary  God  seated  on 
a  throne  which  no  one  had  ever  seen.  The  idea  of  men 
in  the  eighteenth  .century  bowing  down  to  an  ancient 
Hebrew  divinity  !  Why  not  also  before  Isis,  Jupiter, 
and  Odin  ?  ' '  But  the  practical  results  of  his  bold,  brilliant 
theorizing  perplexed  and  troubled  him.  So  far  as  his 
sophistries  found  acceptance,  and  he  succeeded  in  re- 
moving from  his  listeners  the  idea  of  a  personal  God  to 
whom  they  were  accountable,  they  became  reckless, 
vicious,  and  generally  demoralized.  It  was  said,  and 
with  seeming  good  reason,  that  Saville  had  a  very  bad 
influence  over  his  associates.  It  was  not,  however,  the 
man  himself,  but  his  pernicious  opinions,  that  did  the 
mischief..  Those  whose  minds  he  poisoned  were  coarser- 
grained  than  he,  and  had  not  his  resources  of  culture,  nor 
his  repugnance  to  the  gross  vices  of  the  camp.  It  was  in 
vain  that  he  remonstrated  with  them.  His  skeptical 
words  had  broken  down  the  barriers  of  a  wholesome 
fear,  which,  with  many,  serves  for  a  time  in  the  place  of 
principle  ;  and  the  dark  tides  of  evil  flowed  in  unre- 
strained. Thus  he  unwittingly  made  them  uncongenial 
companions  for  himself;  and,  as  spring  advanced,  and 
his  life  grew  lonely  and  isolated  as  he  recalled  his  wife's 
unnatural  course  towards  him  ;  as  he  remembered  that 
his  mother  was  grieving  over  his  action  as  a  great  mis- 
fortune ;  as  he  saw  those  who  had  in  a  measure  accepted 
his  iconoclastic  and  skeptical  views  sinking  far  below  the 
level  of  true  manhood,  his  spirit  at  times  grew  bitter  and 
resentful,  and  he  would  say, 


130  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Everything  I  touch  blackens,  and  even  to  my  mother 
I  am  only  a  source  of  sorrow  and  anxiety.  What  is  the 
evil  fatality  of  my  life  ?  " 

But  his  nature  was  too  sanguine  and  healthful  for  any 
continued  morbid  brooding,  and  he  would  soon  throw  off 
the  burden  of  unhappy  thoughts,  and  hope  for  better 
things. 

Vera's  quest  of  the  surgeon  had  renewed  his  interest  in 
one  whose  character  seemed  so  unique  that  he  felt  quite 
a  strong  desire  to  explore  further  ;  for  he  had  a  French- 
man's love  of  companionship,  providing  it  was  tolerably 
congenial. 

The  difficulty  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  the  family 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  now  acted  only  as  an  in- 
centive. Perhaps  the  man  was  a  political  refugee,  and 
whatever  was  the  cause  of  his  seclusion  he  and  his  cer- 
tainly did  not  belong  to  the  class  of  vulgar  criminals. 
Possibly,  if  he  crossed  the  river1  with  his  flute,  and, 
within  hearing  of  the  cabin,  played  the  air  which  he  and 
Vera  had  come  to  associate  with  each  other,  the  air  to 
which  he  had  first  heard  her  sing  the  exquisite  words, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows," 

he  might  lure  the  young  girl  to  an  interview.  But,  recall- 
ing his  experience  with  the  fierce  dogs,  and  their  equally 
dangerous  master,  he  also  took  his  arms. 

Remembering  that  the  cabin  was  at  the  base  of  a  rocky 
height,  he  concluded  that,  by  scaling  this,  he  might  over- 
look the  habitation  unobserved.  The  lovely  spring  day 
was  declining  when  he  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
where  now  are  the  ruins  of  Fort  Putnam,  and  found  that 
he  could  there,  among  the  sheltering  evergreens,  securely 
carry  forward  his  reconnoissance.  With  his  glass  he  was 
able  to  subject  everything  to  the  closest  scrutiny  ;  but 
there  was  no  one  in  sight,  and  even  the  great  dogs  were 
not  visible.  At  first,  he  hoped  that  the  man  had  gone 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    131 

away  and  taken  them  with  him,  and  he  was  about  to  tune 
his  flute  to  the  musical  signal  which  he  was  in  hopes  the 
daughter  would  answer,  when  his  attention  was  caught 
by  an  ominous  heap  of  newly  turned  earth  under  a  wide- 
spreading  elm  not  very  distant  from  the  house.  Its 
meaning  was  soon  shown,  for  the  door  of  the  cottage 
opened,  and  there  issued  forth  the  strangest  funeral  pro- 
cession that  he  had  ever  seen.  It  consisted  only  of 
three  :  the  husband,  who  carried  upon  his  shoulder  the 
coffin  containing  the  light  and  wasted  form  of  his  wife  ; 
Vera,  and  old  Gula.  Vera  carried  a  large  cross  of 
flowers,  composed  of  the  white  blossoms  of  the  dog-wood 
and  blood -root,  while  the  negress  followed  with  two 
wreaths  of  evergreens.  Slowly,  and  with  bowed  heads, 
they  carried  the  wife  and  mother  from  one  lowly  home  to 
the  last  and  most  lowly  of  all.  Then  Gula  helped  her 
master  to  lower  the  coffin  into  the  grave,  while  Vera 
stood  sobbing  by.  Nor  would  she  permit  any  one  to  put 
the  floral  cross  and  wreaths  of  laurel  upon  the  coffin  of 
her  mother  save  herself.  Then  all  three  stood  a  few  mo- 
ments in  silence  at  the  side  of  the  open  grave,  as  they 
might  upon  the  shores  of  an  ocean  across  which  one  very 
dear  had  passed  beyond  their  reach.  The  man,  with 
folded  arms  and  bowed  head,  stood  as  motionless  as  a 
statue,  while  Vera,  after  a  few  moments,  opened  a  book, 
which  Saville  afterwards  learned  was  the  Bible,  and  with 
a  voice  choked  with  sobs  and  interrupted  by  bitter  weep- 
ing, tried  to  read  those  sublime  and  inspired  words  which 
form  part  of  the  burial  service  in  all  Christian  lands,  com- 
mencing, 

"  So  also  is  the  resurrection  of  the  dead." 
Saville  had  become  so  intensely  interested  in  the  scene 
that  he  had  stolen  with  noiseless  tread  through  the 
sheltering  cedars  sufficiently  near  to  catch  the  broken 
utterances  ;  and  although  he  had  heard  bishops  and  elo- 
quent men  read  those  words,  never  before  had  he  been 


132  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

so  impressed  with  them.  Tears  of  sympathy  started  to 
his  own  eyes,  and  he  thought, 

"  Poor  child,  that  beautiful  fiction  is  a  comfort  to  her 
now.  It's  a  pity  to  disturb  some  of  these  superstitions, 
since  they  soften  many  of  the  inevitable  ills  of  our  lot  to 
those  who  can  believe." 

After  closing  the  Bible,  Vera  tried  to  chant  the  Twenty- 
third  Psalm,  which  her  mother  had  asked  for  just  before 
her  death  ;  but  after  a  few  broken,  plaintive  strains,  her 
grief  overpowered  her.  The  thought  of  that  dear  form 
being  covered  with  the  cold,  black  earth  was  too  terrible 
to  be  borne,  nor  would  she  remain  as  a  witness,  and  so 
she  fled  to  her  own  little  retreat  in  the  side  of  the  hill 
back  of  the  cabin.  Old  Gula  soon  tottered  after,  moan- 
ing and  wringing  her  hands  in  her  honest  grief. 

At  last  the  man  started  out  of  his  stony  paralysis,  and 
seizing  the  spade,  worked  with  superhuman  energy  till 
the  grave  was  filled  and  mounded.  Then  going  to  the 
house,  he  took  his  rifle  and  started  up  the  glen.  He  was 
soon  lost  to  view,  and  the  place  became  as  silent  and 
apparently  as  deserted  as  when  Saville  first  saw  it. 

He  wondered  what  had  become  of  the  dogs.  Ventur- 
ing down  into  the  valley,  a  little  distance  below  he  found 
their  dead  bodies.  Here  was  another  mystery.  He 
waited  for  a  time,  hoping  that  Vera  would  come  to  the 
grave,  for  she  seemed  so  alone  in  her  sorrow  that  he 
longed  to  assure  her  even  of  a  stranger's  sympathy.  He 
had  been  deeply  touched  by  the  scene  he  had  witnessed, 
and  his  curiosity  had  developed  into  the  most  kindly  in- 
terest. He  felt  that  he  could  not  go  away  until  he  had 
told  her  that  if  he  could  ever  be  of  help  to  her  she  must 
come  to  him  again.  At  first,  he  thought  he  would  go 
directly  to  the  door  and  ask  to  see  her ;  but,  acting 
upon  another  impulse,  he  sat  down  by  the  grave,  and 
commenced  playing  a  beautiful  dirge  that  he  had  learned 
abroad. 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    133 

He  was  soon  rewarded  by  seeing  the  door  open,  and 
the  maiden  appear,  looking  wonderingly  up,  as  if  she 
thought  the  music  came  from  the  air.  But,  on  recog- 
nizing him,  she  was  much  startled.  Still  she  did  not  turn 
away,  nor  did  Saville  cease  his  music,  but  only  sought 
to  give  it  a  more  plaintive  and  tender  character.  After  a 
moment's  debate  with  herself,  Vera  approached  with  hes- 
itating steps,  like  a  timid  fawn.  Then  Saville  arose,  and 
taking  off  his  hat,  awaited  her  coming. 

"  Will  you  forgive  a  stranger  for  intruding  on  your 
sorrow,  when  his  only  motive  is  sympathy?"  he  asked 
gently. 

Vera  essayed  to  speak,  but  found  no  words. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  sorry  I  came.  I  would  not  force 
my  company  upon  you  now." 

"  No — oh,  no.  I  am  not  sorry.  I  think  God  sent  you. 
I  was  so  lonely,  it  seemed  as  if  my  heart  was  breaking. 
Pardon  me,  I  have  such  a  pain  here  (pressing  her  hand 
upon  her  side)  that  I  can  hardly  speak." 

"  I  feel  very  deeply  for  you,"  said  Saville  soothingly  ; 
and  he  took  her  hand  and  gave  her  a  seat  on  a  rock  be- 
side the  grave.  "  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  comfort 
you  ?  Though  a  stranger,  you  surely  can  trust  me  in  this 
sacred  place.  I  do  not  think  there  is  a  wretch  in  the 
world  who  could  harbor  an  injurious  thought  against  you 
by  your  mother's  grave." 

"  I  am  sure  you  could  not,"  said  Vera  gratefully  ; 
"  and  you  are  less  a  stranger  to  me  than  any  one  else  in 
all  the  world." 

"Can  it  be  true  that  you  have  no  friends — no  ac- 
quaintances— beyond  the  inmates  of  the  cottage  there?  " 

"  It  is  true  :  while  mother  lived  she  was  everything  to 
me,  and  when  I  saw  her  placed  in  the  ground,  the  world 
turned  black.  If  she  could  only  have  taken  me  with 
her!  " 

"  But  that  would  leave  the  world  '  black '  for  some  one 


134  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

else,"  said  Saville  gently.     "  That  might  be  more  than 
your  father  could  bear." 

"I  know  it's  selfish  and  wrong  for  one  to  feel  so; 
especially  when  mother  is,  at  last,  well  and  happy  ; 
though  just  how  she  can  be  when  I  am  so  unhappy  is 
hard  to  understand." 

"  It  is,  indeed,  poor  child." 

"  It  will  seem  right  by  and  by,"  Vera  continued,  more 
calmly  and  patiently.  "  '  What  I  do  thou  knowest  not 
now,  but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter.'  Already  I  see  he 
will  not  make  the  burden  heavier  than  I  can  bear,  for  he- 
sent  you  here  when  it  seemed  I  could  not  endure  my 
lonely  feelings  any  longer." 

Saville  was  deeply  stirred,  for  he  was  by  nature  very 
sympathetic  and  emotional.  But  he  must  have  been  un- 
naturally callous,  could  he  have  looked  unmoved  upon 
Vera  as  she  turned  to  him  in  her  terrible  isolation  and 
sorrow.  Little  other  claim  had  she  upon  him  save  that 
of  kindred  humanity  ;  and  yet  it  seemed  to  her  that  he 
was  the  only  one  that  could  be  sent  out  of  the  strange 
unfamiliar  world,  whose  words  and  presence  would  not 
be  a  burden. 

To  Saville,  led  as  he  was  ever  prone  to  be,  by  his 
generosity  and  imagination,  it  appeared  that  this  orphan, 
in  her  loneliness  and  bereavement,  had  the  most  sacred 
claims  upon  him.  Because  she  was  so  friendless  and 
defenseless,  his  chivalric  spirit  acknowledged  her  right 
to  seek  help  from  him. 

When  men  are  devoid  of  faith  in  a  personal  God  who 
is  intelligently  shaping  the  destiny  of  his  creatures,  and 
controlling  events,  they  are  prone  to  believe  in  such 
vague  abstractions  as  fate,  destiny,  and  fortune.  That 
he  should  have  met  Vera  as  he  had  in  the  first  instance, 
and  then  have  received  her  at  the  island,  when  she  came 
in  the  vain  hope  of  finding  help  for  her  mother  ;  that  the 
young  girl  should  take  his  proffered  sympathy  as  if  fam- 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    135 

ishing  for  human  fellowship,  and  even  in  her  strong 
superstition  feel  that  her  God  had  sent  him, — all  together 
combined  to  kindle  his  quick  fancy,  and  impressed  him 
with  the  feeling  that  in  this  case  humanity  asserted  one 
of  the  strongest  claims  that  would  ever  rest  upon  him. 
At  the  same  time,  he  was  not  conscious  of  the  degree  in 
which  Vera's  beauty,  youth,  and  uniqueness  of  character 
emphasized  this  claim. 

With  all  his  faults,  he  had  no  small  vanity  to  mislead 
him,  and  was  sufficiently  pure  and  noble  to  understand 
Vera's  innocent  welcome  and  frank  expression  of  relief 
that  he  had  come.  He  regarded  her  feeling  as  an  intense 
desire  to  escape  from  the  awful  solitude  of  sorrow. 
Sympathy  from  one's  own  kind  is  one  of  the  deepest  and 
most  instinctive  wants  of  the  heart ;  and  there  are  times 
when  it  must  be  had  or  the  consequences  are  disastrous. 
No  nature  that  is  human  is  self-sufficient  in  every  emer- 
gency of  life ;  for  even  the  pure  and  perfect  human 
nature  of  our  Lord,  though  allied  with  Divinity,  pleaded 
with  the  drowsy  disciples,  "Watch  with  me."  This  re- 
quest was  not  a  mere  form,  nor  a  test  of  their  loyalty,  but 
the  inevitable  appeal  for  support  which  ever  comes  from 
suffering.  The  larger  and  more  perfect  the  nature,  the 
more  deeply  is  this  want 'felt.  But,  while  human  kind- 
ness and  consideration  can  do  much  to  assuage  this  eager 
hunger  of  the  heart,  it  cannot  satisfy.  The  experience  of 
Gethsemane  is  well-nigh  universal,  and  there  come  to  all, 
hours  of  darkness  when  earthly  friendship  is  as  unavail- 
able as  that  of  the  men  who  slept  through  their  Master's 
grief  when  he  was  but  a  "  stone's  cast  "  away. 

How  true  this  was  in  Vera's  experience  will  be  seen 
hereafter ;  but  now  she  saw  that  the  stranger,  towards 
whom  her  thoughts  had  so  often  turned,  was  strangely 
moved  in  her  behalf,  and  it  greatly  comforted  her.  She 
felt  almost  sure  that  God  had  sent  him,  and  that  he 
would  become  such  a  friend  as  her  mother  desired  her  to 


136  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

gain, — one  that  would  enable  her  to  make  further  ac- 
quaintance with  her  fellow  creatures,  and  escape  from 
her  dangerous  isolation.  The  thought  of  anything  like 
love,  which  might  end  in  an  alliance  with  this  young 
man  had  never  entered  her  mind.  She  did  not  know 
what  love  was,  save  that  love  which,  in  its  tranquil 
phases  had  swayed  her  since  childhood. 

As  has  been  said,  Saville  was  large-minded  enough  to 
understand  that  she  welcomed  him  as  a  captive  might ; 
and  that  he,  in  some  degree,  satisfied  a  natural  craving 
for  sympathy  and  companionship.  He  also  saw  that  she 
was  as  guileless  and  ignorant  of  the  world,  as  she  was 
friendless  and  in  need  of  guardianship  ;  and  every  gener- 
ous trait  in  his  nature  responded  to  her  unconscious  ap- 
peal. He  took  her  hand,  and  said, 

"  You  are,  indeed,  very  much  alone  in  the  world.  I 
never  knew  any  one  quite  so  friendless,  who  was  as  good 
as  you  are." 

"  You  are  almost  the  only  one  I  have  ever  spoken  to, 
save  mother,  father,  and  old  Gula,"  replied  Vera,  look- 
ing into  his  face  as  frankly  and  gratefully  as  a  little 
child. 

"Would  you  like  to  speak  to  me  often?  Would  you 
like  to  have  me  as  a  friend  to  whom  you  could  tell  your 
troubles,  and  from  whom  you  could  ask  help  and  advice 
without  any  fear  ?  I  am  willing  to  be  a  brother  to  you  as 
nearly  as  I  can." 

Vera's  lovely  face  was  fairly  illumined  with  gratitude  ; 
but,  without  removing  her  frank  and  childlike  gaze, 
before  which  a  bad  and  designing  man  would  have 
shrunk  abashed,  she  said,  earnestly, 

"  And  can  you  offer  so  much  to  one  who  has  so  little 
claim  upon  you  ?  " 

"Who  could  have  a  stronger  claim?  Your  need,  your 
loneliness  and  sorrow,  your  youth,  beauty,  and  ignorance 
of  the  world  and  its  dangers,  would  awaken  a  chivalrous 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    137 

spirit  in  the  basest  of  men  ;  and  such,  believe  me,  I  am 
not,  with  all  my  faults.  Let  me,  then,  be  a  friend  and 
brother,  till  you  can  find  better  and  more  helpful 
friends." 

"And  do  you  think  that  I  could  use  you  only  as  a 
stepping-stone  on  which  to  cross  a  rough  place  ? ' '  said 
Vera,  a  little  reproachfully.  "  Ingratitude  is  a  *  marble- 
hearted  fiend.'  No  friend  can  ever  take  the  place  of 
one  who  has  been  kind  to  me  at  this  time.  But,  humble 
and  friendless  as  I  am,  there  are  conditions  of  which  I 
must  speak  first.  I  am,  indeed,  alone.  There  is  no  one 
to  guide  or  counsel  me,  and  I  must  follow  mother's 
teachings  and  words,  as  far  as  I  can  remember  them. 
She  told  me  that  if  I  ever  made  friends,  the  first  thing  I 
must  try  to  be  sure  of  was  their  truthfulness  ;  for  she  said 
no  good  qualities  could  take  the  place  of  truth,  and  that, 
if  this  were  lacking,  all  else  would  fail.  I  feel  sure  that 
you  are  true  and  honorable.  My  heart  tells  me  that  you 
are.  You  would  not  deceive  me  anywhere,  much  less 
here,"  with  a  little,  eloquent  gesture  towards  the  spot 
where  her  mother  was  sleeping.  ' '  Will  you  promise  me 
that  your  friendship  will  ever  tend  to  help  me  live  and 
feel  as  that  dear  mother  would  wish  ?  I  believe  God  will 
permit  her  to  be  near  me,  and  I  wish  her  to  see  no 
change,  no  forgetfulness  of  her,  or  any  of  her  words.  I 
would  rather  live  alone  all  my  life  in  these  mountains, 
and  never  see  any  one,  than  grieve  her.  My  only  re- 
quest is,  that  you  will  help  me  to  remain  true  to  her 
teachings,  and  to  live  in  a  way  that  I  know  will  be  pleas- 
ing to  her." 

Saville  hesitated  a  moment,  for  Vera  was  asking  more 
than  she  could  understand.  According  to  his  opinions 
the  best  service  he  could  render  this  young  girl  was  to 
enlighten  her  mind,  and  break  the  chains  of  superstition. 
And  yet  his  theory  in  this  case  failed  signally,  for  that 
superstition  was  now  her  only  comfort — the  rock  that 


138  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

sustained  her  above  the  dark  waves  of  sorrow.  He  might 
better  stab  the  girl  looking  up  wistfully  at  him,  than  hint 
that  her  mother  was  not  living  and  that  there  was  no  such 
place  as  heaven.  Then  the  thought  flashed  into  his 
mind  ;  could  his  philosophy  make  her  more  true,  innocent, 
and  lovely  in  character,  than  had  those  mother's  teach- 
ings, to  which  she  was  so  pathetically  seeking  to  be  loyal  ? 
His  experience  as  its  teacher  had  not  been  encouraging  ; 
and  had  he  not  better  leave  the  spells  of  early  years  un- 
broken, in  this  instance  ?  The  moment's  reflection  con- 
vinced him  that  any  other  course  would  be  most  cruel, 
and  perhaps  disastrous  ;  and  therefore  he  said  solemnly, 

"  I  promise  what  you  ask  ;  and  when  I  see  what  your 
mother's  teaching  and  example  have  made  you,  I  feel  as- 
sured that  I  am  acting  right." 

Thus  again  Saville  gave  a  pledge  which  would  in  the 
future  confront  him,  and  rise  like  a  wall  across  his  path. 

But  Vera  heaved  a  great  sigh  of  relief,  and  said,  "  I 
am  content.  I  now  have  done  just  as  mother  would 
wish,"  and  she  looked  as  fondly  at  the  grave  as  if  it  were 
an  intelligent  face. 

For  a  little  while  Saville  watched  her  wonderingly  in 
silence,  and  then  asked  abruptly, 

"  You  have  never  told  me  your  name." 

"  Vera — Vera  Brown." 

"  Vera !  it's  a  most  appropriate  name." 

"  It  was  appropriate  to  mother,  and  it  was  given  to  me 
by  father,  because  he  said  she  had  been  so  true  to  him. 
Oh  !  how  I  wish  you  had  come  sooner,"  she  added,  with 
a  sudden  rush  of  tears. 

"  Why  do  you  wish  I  had  come  sooner  ?  " 

"  Mother  wished  to  see  you." 

"  Indeed  !  did  she  know  anything  about  me?  " 

"  She  knew  all  that  I  did.  I  never  hid  a  thought  from 
her,  and  never  shall,  for  I  think  God  will  let  her  come 
back  to  me  and  be  my  guardian  spirit.  Can  you  think  I 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    139 

did  not  tell  her  of  your  great  kindness  when  I  went  for 
the  surgeon?  She  wanted  to  see  you  and  thank  you," 
and  Vera's  tears  fell  fast. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  did  venture  once  to  the  shore,  but  there  was  a  feel- 
ing which  I  cannot  explain  that  made  it  impossible  for  me 
to  ask  you  to  come,  though  I  so  much  wished  you  would," 
said  Vera,  unconsciously  revealing  the  maidenly  reserve, 
which,  though  not  understood,  controlled  her.  "  I  was 
in  hopes  you  might  come  again  of  your  own  accord." 

"  I  ought  to  have  done  so  ;  and  yet  I  feared  I  might 
be  an  intruder." 

"  You  have  no  reason  to  blame  yourself,  after  the  treat- 
ment you  received  from  father  and  myself.  I  had  no  cause 
to  expect  you  ;  I  only  hoped." 

"  I  am  still  to  blame,"  said  Saville  ;  "for  while  your 
voice  forbade  me  to  come,  I  thought  I  saw  in  your  eyes 
the  need  of  sympathy  and  help." 

"  You  saw  what  was  true,  indeed." 

"  Besides,  you  spoke  your  father's  will,  and  not  your 
own  wish." 

An  expression  of  pain  flitted  across  the  girl's  face.  For 
a  moment  she  sat  still  in  deep  embarrassment,  trying  to 
think  how  she  should  explain  her  father's  action,  past  and 
prospective  ;  but  she  knew  so  little  herself,  and  the  whole 
subject  was  so  mysterious  and  sad,  that  she  was  at  a  loss 
to  find  words. 

Her  truth,  however,  and  her  simplicity  served  her  better 
than  skill  or  concealment ;  for  at  last  she  turned  a  little 
abruptly  to  Saville,  and  with  eyes  washed  clear  by  many 
tears  said, 

"  My  father  met  with  a  misfortune  in  England.  What 
it  was  I  do  not  know  ;  neither  he  nor  mother  ever  told  me. 
But  he  had  to  leave  his  home  ;  so  he  brought  mother  here, 
and  here  I  was  born,  and  here  we  have  lived  ever  since  : 
now  you  know  all  that  I  do.  Mother  thought  that  father's 


140  NEAE  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

troubles  and  his  long  seclusion  from  the  world  had  a  bad 
influence  on  his  mind,  and  once  told  me  that  he  had 
greatly  changed  from  his  former  self.  But,  like  Cordelia, 
1 1  love  him  according  to  my  bond,'  and  with  her  could 
cry, 

"  « O  my  father  !     Restoration,  hang 

Thy  medicine  on  my  lips ;  and  let  my  kiss 
Repair  those  violent  harms.' 

But  from  you  I  can  ask  only  forbearance  ;  the  same 
generous  courtesy  that  you  showed  when  you  said  to  me, 
'  Charity  thinketh  no  evil."  ' 

This  statement,  so  simple,  guileless,  and  yet  enriched 
by  an  apt  allusion  to  one  whose  character  she  seemed  to 
possess,  greatly  pleased  Saville.  Whatever  had  been  the 
act  that  clouded  the  father's  life,  not  even  the  shadow  of 
its  knowledge  rested  upon  the  mind  of  the  child. 

"Your  thoughts  are  as  crystal  as  yonder  spring,"  he 
said  ;  "and  yet  you  are  enshrouded  in  mystery.  How 
came  you  so  conversant  with  the  two  great  books  of  the 
world  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  mystery  about  that ;  they  are  the  only 
books  we  have.  I  learned  to  read  in  them,  and  they 
have  been  my  companions  ever  since.  What  I  should 
have  done  without  them,  often,  I  scarcely  know." 

"  Which  of  the  two  do  you  like  the  better?  " 

"Oh!  the  Bible,  of  course.  ^But  a  year  ago  I  found 
more  pleasure  in  the  plays,  and  I  never  could  get  weary 
of  them  ;  but  when  mother  began  to  fail,  and  my  heart 
to  sink  with  dread,  the  plays  would  not  answer.  I  wanted 
something  like  the  kind  voice  of  a  living  being  speaking 
to  me,  and  so  I  have  read  the  Bible  altogether  of  late." 

"  And  does  the  Bible  seem  like  a  living  voice  speaking 
to  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  surely  ;  the  Bible  is  God's  Word.     Sometimes 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    141 

I  hear  mother's  favorite  text  so  plainly — '  Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled" — that  I  look  around,  half  expecting 
to  see  some  one. ' ' 

Saville  sighed,  as  he  thought,  "  What  a  pity  her  belief 
is  not  true  !  "  but  he  said,  changing  the  subject, 

"  Will  you  let  me  ask  about  another  mystery?  How 
does  it  happen  that  your  two  great  dogs  lie  dead 
yonder  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  mystery  concerning  those  two  humble 
friends,  which  perhaps  you  can  help  us  solve.  When  I 
found  them  dead  this  morning,  I  felt  very  badly.  It 
seemed  as  if  death  still  hovered  around  us  ;  and  yet  God 
preserved  us  so  wonderfully  from  greater  harm,  that  we 
have  only  reason  to  be  grateful."  Then  she  told  him  of 
the  night  alarm,  and  the  intrusion  of  the  robber  within 
the  cabin.  "  But  after  he  entered,"  continued  Vera, 
"  he  did  not  speak,  and  scarcely  moved  until  he  turned 
and  abruptly  left  the  room  ;  and  then,  judging  from  the 
sound  of  their  horses'  feet,  they  went  as  if  flying  for  their 
lives.  I  unbarred  and  unbolted  the  door,  so  that  we 
might  be  solely  in  God's  hands  ;  and  he  protected  us  as 
he  did  the  prophet,  when  cast  into  the  lion's  den." 

"This  is  very  strange,"  mused  Saville  frowningly. 

"  Do  you  think  they  were  soldiers?  Their  coming  has 
troubled  father  terribly, ' ' 

"You  say  they  came  up  the  valley  from  the  south,  and 
continued  northward." 

"Yes." 

"  I  scarcely  think  they  were  any  of  our  men.  It  is 
more  probable  that  they  belong  to  a  class  of  dangerous 
wretches  that  are  becoming  very  troublesome.  They 
pretend  to  be  Tories  or  Royalists,  but  usually  plunder 
either  party  as  they  get  a  chance." 

"  Oh  !  thank  God,  who  kept  us  from  the  evil." 

"  I  do  indeed  shudder  to  think  of  your  situation  last 
night,"  said  Saville,  growing  pale  at  the  thought  of  the 


142  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

young  girl's  peril.  "  But,  to  quote  from  one  of  your  fa- 
vorite books,  'Conscience  makes  cowards  of  us  all.' 
These  guilty  rascals  are  very  superstitious,  and  no  doubt 
your  mother's  dead  face  was  more  protection  than  an 
armed  man.  But  it  troubles  me  greatly  to  think  of  you 
as  so  isolated  and  unshielded." 

"  I  shall  continue  to  trust  in  God,"  said  Vera  calmly. 

"  That  is  right ;  keep  up  your  faith  and  courage,''  re- 
plied Saville  heartily  ;  adding  mentally,  "  Poor  child  ! 
never  was  delusion  more  harmless  and  useful  than  in 
your  case." 

The  twilight  was  now  deepening  fast  ;  still  it  had  not 
grown  so  dark  but  that  Vera's  father  could  be  plainly 
seen  advancing  towards  them.  When  he  saw  Saville,  he 
stopped  abruptly,  and  took  his  rifle  down  from  his  shoulders 
with  the  instinctive  action  of  one  who  suddenly  thinks 
himself  in  the  presence  of  danger.  But  Vera  rose 
promptly,  and  taking  her  companion's  hand,  led  him 
forward,  saying, 

"  Father,  this  is  Mr.  Saville,  who  was  very  kind  to  me 
when  I  went  for  the  surgeon." 

The  man's  recognition  was  so  cold  and  distant  as  to  be 
forbidding,  whereupon  Vera  continued,  in  a  tone  whose 
firmness  and  decision  excited  Saville's  surprise,  and 
proved  that  she  had  unusual  force  of  character, 

"  You  remember  mother  said  that  if  he  came  again  you 
must  treat  him  with  kindness  and  courtesy  ;  and  from 
henceforth  mother's  will  must  be  your  law  and  mine." 

This  reference  to  his  dead  wife  disarmed  the  man  at 
once.  The  known  wishes  of  a  loved  one  who  has  died 
are  often  far  more  potent  than  were  strong  entreaties 
when  urged  face  to  face  ;  and  the  husband's  mind  was 
not  so  warped  but  that  he  was  suffering  from  the  re- 
morseful impression  that  he  had  not  been  as  considerate 
of  his  wife  as  both  duty  and  his  own  affection  required, 
and  he  was  in  a  mood  to  make  amends.  It  was  only  his 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    143 

strongly  rooted  habit  of  shunning  and  repelling  strangers 
that  now  stood  between  him  and  this  the  first  visitor  who 
had  broken  in  upon  his  solitude  for  so  many  long  years. 
But  Vera  was  gladdened  by  seeing  him  master  this, 
though  evidently  by  a  great  effort,  and  give  his  hand  to 
Saville  in  something  like  a  welcome. 

"  The  wishes  of  the  dead  are  indeed  sacred,"  he  said  ; 
"  and  I  hope  that  neither  myself  nor  my  daughter  will 
ever  have  cause  to  regret  our  acquaintance." 

"  I  pledge  you  the  word  of  a  gentleman,  you  shall  not," 
replied  Saville  heartily  ;  "  and  to  the  extent  of  my  power 
as  an  officer  I  will  extend  you  protection  while  I  am  in 
this  locality." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  go  away,"  said  Vera  in  a  low 
tone  ;  but  there  was  more  entreaty  in  her  wistful  look 
than  in  her  words. 

"  The  chief  element  in  a  soldier's  life  is  uncertainty. 
I  must  obey  orders,  and  there  is  prospect  of  a  very 
active  campaign.  But  wherever  I  am,  I  shall  not  forget 
you,  nor  cease  to  use  what  influence  I  possess  in  your 
behalf." 

Mr.  Brown  now  went  so  far  as  to  ask  Saville  into  the 
cabin,  where  Gula  had  prepared  as  good  a  supper  as  her 
slender  materials  permitted.  Saville' s  high  breeding  and 
familiarity  with  the  world  enabled  him  to  talk  with  ease 
and  grace,  while  his  tact  and  genuine  sympathy  for  the 
afflicted  household  made  his  words  like  oil  that  calmed 
the  troubled  waters  in  the  souls  of  each  of  his  listeners  ; 
for,  beyond  a  few  eager  questions  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Brown  in  regard  to  the  progress  of  the  war,  both  father 
and  daughter  were  well  content  to  listen  rather  than 
speak,  when  their  hearts  were  so  full  of  sorrow,  and  their 
lips  sealed  by  so  much  mystery.  Gleams  of  hope  and 
almost  exultation  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  fear-haunted 
man,  as  Saville  told  him  of  the  forced  and  hasty  evacu- 
ation of  Boston,  on  the  part  of  the  British  troops,  of 


144  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

which  event  vague  rumors  only  had  reached  the  moun- 
tain cabin. 

"  But,  after  all,"  he  asked,  "  can  the  American  Colo- 
nies make  any  prolonged  resistance  to  the  enormous 
power  of  England  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  cried  Saville  enthusiastically  ;  "  we  are  on  the 
eve  of  complete  and  final  independence,  and  on  this  new 
continent  will  be  built  up  a  system  of  life  and  government 
which  will  revolutionize  the  world." 

The  haggard  face  of  his  host  lighted  up  as  he  caught 
something  of  the  young  man's  spirit ;  but  soon  the 
shadow  fell  across  it  again,  and  he  shook  his  head, 
saying, 

"  England's  power  is  almost  without  limit,  and  English 
blood  is  slow  to  heat  and  slow  to  cool.  Rest  assured  it 
will  be  a  long  fight." 

"Yes,  and  a  hard  one,"  added  Saville  thoughtfully  ; 
"  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  severest  part  of  the 
struggle  will  be  for  the  possession  of  this  river.  For  that 
reason  I  may  be  of  service  to  you,  as  this  region  becomes 
crowded  with  troops." 

While  Saville  and  her  father  were  dwelling  on  the  mil- 
itary and  political  aspects  of  the' situation,  Vera's  eyes 
and  thoughts  often  wandered  out  into  the  darkness  that 
concealed  the  little  mound  which  was  still  ever  present 
to  her  mind,  and  as  the  last  words  were  uttered,  she 
sighed, 

"  Perhaps  mother  has  escaped  from  ills  too  great  for 
her  to  bear." 

"  It  shall  be  my  effort  that  you  escape  from  as  many 
as  possible  also,  though  not  by  flight  into  the  unknown," 
said  Saville,  generously  hoping  to  do  more  than  circum- 
stances would  probably  permit,  to  show  his  friendship. 
"  And  now,  sir,"  he  continued,  giving  his  hand  to  his 
host,  as  he  rose  to  depart,  "  you  cannot  fail  to  trust  me 
after  to-day  ;  for  I  have  broken  bread  with  you,  and 


THE  MOTHER  STILL  PROTECTS  HER  CHILD    145 

were  I  a  wild  Arab,  I  could  never  entertain  an  injurious 
thought  against  you  or  yours." 

This  cordiality  towards  his  host  was  somewhat  the  re- 
sult of  policy  ;  for  he  saw  that  if  he  would  be  of  service 
to  the  daughter,  he  must  disarm  the  suspicions  of  the 
father.  Moreover,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  man's  offense  had  been'of  a  political  nature,  for  in 
his  words  and  bearing  there  was  no  suggestion  of  vulgar 
crime. 

To  Vera's  hand  he  gave  a  strong  pressure,  as  he  said, 
"  If  anything  I  can  say  or  do  will  cheer  you,  I  will  soon 
come  again." 

"  You  have  cheered  and  comforted  me  more  than  I 
could  have  believed  possible,"  said  the  maiden  grate- 
fully ;  and  she  added,  with  the  frankness  of  a  child,  "  I 
hope  you  will  some  soon  and  often." 


CHAPTER  XII 

BEACON    FIRES 

SAVILLE  was  not  slow  in  keeping  his  promise,  and  be- 
came a  frequent  guest  at  the  little  cabin  among  the  moun- 
tains. His  visits,  which  at  first  were  made  largely  from 
sympathy,  soon  became  sources  of  so  much  pleasure, 
that  he  was  ready  to  avail  himself  of  any  pretext  which 
gave  him  for  a  few  hours  the  society  of  one  who  was  more 
fascinating  than  if  schooled  in  social  arts.  And  yet  such 
was  her  youth  and  simplicity,  and  so  undisguised  was  her 
wonder  as  he  described  scenes  and  life  in  New  York  and 
Europe,  that  she  seemed  to  him  only  an  intelligent  child, 
whom  it  was  a  delight  to  instruct.  Congenial  compan- 
ionship was  a  necessity  of  the  young  man's  nature  ;  and 
in  Vera  he  found  so  much  delicacy  and  refinement,  com- 
bined with  such  utter  absence  of  conventionality,  and 
entire  ignorance  of  the  form  and  etiquette  of  the  times, 
that  she  appeared  to  confirm  his  Utopian  dreams  of  a 
liberty  so  large  that  the  impulses  of  nature  would  become 
the  only  laws.  But  nature,  to  Saville  and  Vera,  had 
very  different  meanings.  To  the  one  it  was  an  existing 
order  of  things  that  he  could  not  account  for,  but  in 
which  man  was  supreme,  and  a  law  unto  himself.  To 
the  other  it  was  the  creation  and  dwelling-place  of  a 
divine,  all-powerful  Being,  who  was,  at  the  same  time, 
her  Father  and  friend.  In  the  beauty  and  purity  of 
Vera's  character  Saville  saw  the  effects  of  this  belief,  but 
he  erred  greatly  in  supposing  all  to  be  the  result  of 
earthly  causes.  The  development  of  the  soul,  under  the 
influence  of  a  Divine,  ever-present  Spirit,  was  a  truth 
concerning  which  he  had  little  knowledge  and  no  faith. 


BEACON  FIRES  147 

Of  his  own  great  trouble  and  disappointment  he  never 
spoke  to  any  one.  His  wife's  conduct  was  more  than  a 
sorrow,  and  had  become  rather  a  bitter  shame  and  dis- 
grace, to  which  his  proud  spirit  could  not  endure  the 
slightest  allusion.  Not  even  to  his  mother  had  he  men- 
tioned her  name  since  the  evening  she  crossed  his  thresh- 
old for  the  last  time.  It  was  his  wish  to  forget  her 
existence  ;  for  his  blood  tingled  as  he  remembered  how 
easily  she  had  duped  him,  and  how  blindly  and  stupidly 
he  had  wrecked  his  happiness.  While,  therefore,  he 
spoke  frankly  to  Vera  of  his  mother,  and  of  his  life 
abroad  and  in  New  York,  he  maintained  the  habit  of 
silence,  in  regard  to  his  wife,  which  was  already  fastened 
upon  him. 

Vera  had  disarmed  at  once  the  bitter  and  misanthropic 
thoughts,  which  a  man  with  his  experience  is  prone  to 
cherish  towards  the  entire  sex.  No  mountain  stream 
could  be  more  transparent  than  this  child  of  nature,  who 
had  learned  none  of  art's  disguises.  When,  from  in- 
stinct, she  manifested  maidenly  reserve,  the  cause  was 
as  apparent  as  the  effect.  Her  perfect  guilelessness 
deepened  the  impression,  that  Saville  had  formed  from 
the  first,  that  she  was  but  a  child  ;  and  his  warm  and 
growing  affection  was  that  of  a  brother  for  a  younger 
sister,  who  accepts  wonderingly  and  trustingly  his 
superiority  in  all  things.  And  yet  there  was  withal  a 
certain  womanly  dignity  which  often  puzzled  Saville, 
and  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  indulge  in  the  innocent 
caresses  which  are  natural  between  brother  and  sister. 

As  for  the  young  girl,  she  no  more  thought  of  analyz- 
ing her  feeling  towards  her  new-found  friend  than  would 
the  mind  of  a  famished  man  dwell  upon  the  chemical 
constituents  of  the  food  that  was  giving  him  a  new  lease 
of  life.  She  did  indeed  love  Saville,  and  she  knew  it  ; 
but  her  strong  and  deepening  regard  caused  no  more 
unrest  than  had  the  tender  yet  tranquil  affections  which 


148  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

had  hitherto  governed  her.  She  loved  him  like  a  sister, 
and  yet  with  more  intensity  than  that  relation  usually 
awakens.  She  loved  him  from  a  deep  and  abiding  sense 
of  gratitude.  He  had  been  a  friend  in  the  sorest  ex- 
tremity of  her  life,  and  had  come  as  a  deliverer  when 
her  heart  was  breaking  in  her  terrible  anguish  and  lone- 
liness. He  .  had  rescued  her  from  the  agony  which 
pierced  like  a  mortal  thrust,  as  she  realized  that  her 
mother  was  buried  from  her  sight ;  and  he  had  gently 
and  tenderly  sought  to  comfort  and  divert  her  thoughts 
ever  since.  She  loved  him  for  the  same  reason  that 
many  others  of  her  sex  would  :  because  he  was  lovable, 
and  possessed  the  traits  that  usually  win  esteem.  He 
was  brave  ;  he  was  manly  in  his  appearance  and  bear- 
ing ;  frank  and  affable  in  his  manner  ;  and  more  than 
all,  possessed  tact,  and  the  power  of  adapting  himself 
to  the  moods  and  characters  of  his  associates.  He 
could  be  most  fascinating  when  he  chose  to  exert  himself ; 
and  both  inclination  and  every  generous  impulse  led  him 
to  do  all  in  his  power  to  cheer  the  orphan,  who  looked  to 
him  as  the  sole  friend  she  possessed.  But  perhaps  the 
tenderest  element  in  her  affection  was  the  result  of  her 
mother's  knowledge  of  him,  and  her  belief  that  he 
would  prove  the  deliverer  who  would  open  a  way  of 
escape  from  an  isolation  which  she  saw,  more  and  more 
clearly,  would  be  fraught  with  danger  and  unhappiness. 
He  had  shown  kindness  to  her  mother,  and  his  gift  of 
the  brandy  had  made  the  pain  and  weakness  of  her 
last  days  more  easily  borne.  Under  the  circumstances, 
and  with  her  nature,  how  could  she  do  otherwise  than 
love  this  stranger  knight,  who  had  done  so  much  to  help 
and  relieve  from  sore  distress  ? 

And  yet  there  was  a  depth  in  her  heart  in  which  the 
name  of  Saville  had  never  sounded.  If  he  had  told  her 
that  he  had  a  true  and  loving  wife  in  New  York,  her 
heart  would  have  bounded  with  joy  ;  for  in  that  wife  she 


BEACON  FIRES  149 

would  hope  to  find  another  friend,  of  her  own  sex.  She 
could  love  her  at  once  for  his  sake.  If,  in  brotherly 
confidence,  he  had  told  her  of  another  maiden  that  he 
loved,  no  sister  would  have  sympathized  more  unselfishly 
and  heartily.  Saville  was  right ;  Vera  was  still  a  child. 

With  no  disposition  to  monopolize  her  as  a  discovery 
of  his  own,  Saville  was  perfectly  ready  to  introduce 
other  officers,  whose  characters  warranted  the  privilege, 
at  the  mountain  cabin.  But  it  was  found  that  its  master 
was  so  morbidly  averse,  as  yet,  to  any  extension  of 
acquaintance,  that  at  Vera's  request,  'he  waited  until 
circumstances  should  break  down  the  barriers.  Her 
father's  intense  interest  in  the  progress  of  the  war  grew 
more  and  more  apparent,  and  they  believed  that  if  he 
could  be  induced  to  take  an  open  part  in  the  struggle, 
his  mental  disorder  would  pass  away,  Although,  at 
times,  he  seemed  almost  ready  to  yield  to  their  wishes, 
his  old  habit  of  shrinking  caution  and  demoralizing  fear 
would  suddenly  resume  its  sway  and  disappoint  them. 

That  this  was  true  was  most  unfortunate  ;  for,  as  the 
season  advanced,  the  whole  country  became  pervaded 
with  rumors  of  Tory  plots  and  uprisings.  The  arrival  of 
British  forces  was  daily  expected  at  New  York,  and  it 
was  said  that  the  loyalists  in  the  city  and  along  the 
shores  of  the  Hudson  were  in  league  to  rise,  on  the 
advent  of  large  bodies  of  supporting  English  troops.  It 
was  a  time  of  general  distrust.  Near  neighbors  regarded 
each  other  with  suspicion,  and  often  with  good  cause. 
Spies  were  everywhere  plying  their  trade  of-  drawing 
from  the  unwary,  secrets  that  might  prove  ruinous.  It 
was  a  bad  time  for  people  who  could  not  or  did  not 
fully  account  for  themselves  ;  therefore,  the  man  who, 
among  the  few  that  were  aware  of  his  existence,  went 
by  the  name  of  "  Skulkin'  Brown,"  could  not  fail  to 
become  an  object  of  suspicion.  There  were  increasing 
rumors,  which  had  no  other  foundation  than  the  excited 


150  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

imaginations  of  people  who  feared  danger  on  every  side, 
and  only  the  fact  that  nothing  definite  was  alleged 
against  him,  prevented  a  self-appointed  delegation  from 
waiting  on  him  with  notice  to  decamp  to  parts  unknown. 

But,  in  the  garrison  at  Fort  Montgomery,  rumor  began 
to  take  more  tangible  and  ominous  form  ;  for  Molly, 
sharing  in  all  her  mother's  prejudices  against  the  neigh- 
bors who  had  been  so  secluded  and  unsocial,  began  to 
give  out  many  dark  hints  of  what  she  had  surmised 
rather  than  seen ;  and  these  intimations  constantly 
gained  in  evil  suggestion  as  they  became  the  staple 
gossip  around  the  camp-fire. 

The  artillery  company  to  which  her  husband  belonged 
had  been  stationed  for  a  time  at  Fort  Montgomery,  but 
had  recently  been  recalled  to  fort  Constitution  ;  and 
Larry  was  glad  to  get  back,  for  after  his  experience  as 
sentinel,  he  regarded  the  east  side  of  the  river  as  the 
safer  one.  He  and  his  wife  naturally  gravitated  towards 
that  class  among  the  soldiery  who  were  as  ignorant  and 
superstitious  as  themselves  ;  and  loquacious,  rash-speak- 
ing Molly  was  not  long  in  convincing  her  associates  that 
old  Gula  was  a  "hay then,"  and  in  league  with  the 
Evil  One,  and  that  Vera  was  her  disciple. 

These  rumors  soon  took  such  shape  as  to  become  the 
topic  of  conversation  among  the  officers,  and  thus  Saville 
heard  of  them.  Alarmed  for  the  safety  of  Vera,  he 
promptly  sought  their  origin,  and  was  not  long  in  tracing 
them  to  the  daughter  of  the  old  crone  who  had  disgusted 
him  with  her  envenomed  but  baseless  innuendo  on  the 
afternoon  when  he  and  Larry  first  saw  the  nymph  of  the 
potato  field.  At  first,  he  sought  to  reason  with  Molly, 
and  awaken  her  sympathies  for  the  motherless  girl.  But, 
on  the  mention  of  Vera,  the  coarse-fibered  woman  only 
tossed  her  head,  with  something  like  a  leer  on  her  bold, 
handsome  face  ;  and  Saville,  with  indignation,  saw  that 
she  gave  him  credit  for  very  different  motives  from  those 


BEACON  FIRES  151 

of  commiseration  and  friendly  regard  for  the  maiden  he 
was  seeking  to  protect.  Therefore  he  said,  with  a  sud- 
den anger  and  sternness,  before  which  even  the  reckless 
termagant  quailed, 

"  Beware  how  you  or  your  husband  whisper  another 
lie  against  those  who  are  under  my  protection.  If  you 
even  hint  anything  you  cannot  prove,  L  will  have  you 
drummed  out  of  camp." 

This,  to  Molly,  was  a  dire  threat,  which  for  a  time  had 
the  desired  effect ;  for,  in  her  estimation,  she  could  suffer 
no  greater  misfortune  than  to  be  exiled  from  the  camp, 
where  she  had  already  become  quite  a  potentate,  with 
numerous  satellites,  the  unfortunate  Larry  being  the 
most  subservient  of  all.  But  her  spite  rankled  and 
strengthened,  nevertheless.  Saville  was  no  favorite  of 
hers  ;  for  her  husband  had  reported  his  significant  offer 
of  his  old  breeches,  as  well  as  his  shoes,  at  the  time  she 
captured  his  quondam  man-of-all-work. 

Saville  was  able,  in  part,  to  allay  the  suspicions  of  his 
brother  officers,  by  his  strenuous  assertions  that  the 
Whig  cause  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  inmates  of  the 
mountain  cabin ;  but,  when  asked  to  give  some  account 
of  them,  he  could  say  but  little,  and  so  an  evil-boding 
prejudice  remained. 

But  the  rapid  events  of  a  stirring  campaign  soon  ban- 
ished all  thought  of  possible  dangers  ;  and  in  the  ap- 
proach of  legions  of  British  troops,  the  exile  suspected 
of  Tory  proclivities  was  forgotten. 

As  the  month  of  June  passed,  the  nearer  approached 
the  time  when  all  felt  that  the  English  men-of-war  and 
transports  must  appear  upon  the  coast.  Not  a  day 
dawned  but  the  tidings  of  their  arrival  at  New  York  was 
expected  by  Colonel  James  Clinton,  who  then  com- 
manded the  forts  in  the  Highlands  ;  and  the  feverish  ex- 
citement of  expectation  hourly  increased  among  both 
officers  and  men. 


152  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

One  lovely  evening,  about  the  last  of  June,  Saville, 
after  his  labors  upon  the  fortifications  were  over,  pulled 
his  boat  across  the  river  to  a  little  cove  near  the  cabin. 
He  had  suffered  much,  during  the  past  year,  and  was 
finding  in  the  society  of  Vera  an  increasing  power  to  ob- 
literate the  painful  impressions  of  the  past.  He  felt,  at 
times,  like  one  consumed  with  feverish  thirst,  and  that 
her  conversation,  at  once  so  childlike  and  intelligent,  so 
natural  and  yet  tinged  with  the  supernatural,  was  like  a 
cool  mountain  rill,  sweet  and  sparkling,  as  it  issued  into 
the  light  from  its  mysterious  source  in  the  heart  of  the 
hills.  He  often  wondered  at  her  ability  to  enchain  his 
thoughts,  to  awaken  questionings  in  regard  to  matters 
which  he  had  considered  settled,  and  unconsciously  to 
arouse  misgivings  concerning  his  doubt  and  unbelief. 

Of  one  thing,  however,  he  was  certain  :  her  influence 
was  making  him  a  better  and  truer  man,  and  bringing  a 
strange  peace  and  hopefulness  into  his  soul,  that  hitherto 
had  been  full  of  unrest,  and  was  at  times  embittered  by 
impotent  resentment  at  his  destiny  and  again  weighed 
down  by  deep  despondency. 

He  was  soon  on  the  crest  of  the  rocky  height  above  the 
cabin,  playing  upon  his  flute  the  air  which  had  become 
the  summons  to  trysts  that,  thus  far,  had  not  been  tainted 
by  the  thought  of  evil.  A  clear  voice  from  the  glen  be- 
low echoed  back  the  words, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows," 

and,  a  moment  later,  Vera  gave  him  her  hand  in  greet- 
ing. 

After  a  little  while  their  conversation  flagged.  The 
subtle  sympathy  between  them  had  grown  so  deep,  that 
they  did  not  need  a  constant  interchange  of  words  to  en- 
joy each  other's  society  ;  and,  on  this  occasion,  the  ex- 
quisite beauty  and  peace  of  the  landscape,  as  they  scanned 


BEACON  FIRES  153 

it  from  their  lofty  eyrie,  so  impressed  both  that  they  were 
content  to  gaze  in  silence.  Darkening  and  lengthening 
shadows  from  the  western  mountains  stretched  far  across 
the  river,  whose  glassy  surface  had  gradually  passed 
from  the  sheen  of  silver  to  a  colder,  steely  gleam,  as  it 
washed  its  bold  shores  at  their  feet ;  but  the  heads  of 
"Sugar  Loaf"  mountain,  and  other  lofty  heights,  were 
still  crowned  with  light  and  robed  in  royal  purple. 
Coming  night  would  soon  uncrown  them,  even  as  death 
brings  darkness  and  obscurity  to  those  who,  but  a  brief 
time  before,  shone  preeminent  in  power  and  station. 

At  last  Saville  said, 

"  Why  is  it,  Vera,  that  while  here  with  you,  the  real 
world,  which  is  full  of  turmoil  and  trouble,  recedes,  and 
I  seem  near  another  world  which  I  would  gladly  enter  ; 
for  even  on  its  borders  I  find  a  strange  peace  and  quiet 
joy.  The  people  I  am  thrown  with  in  the  garrison  are 
coarse,  and  their  best  idea  of  life  is  commonplace  and 
material.  Our  food  is  plain  and  even  gross,  and  yet  it 
seems  wholly  to  occupy  the  thoughts  of  many.  How  you 
live  I  cannot  tell,  unless  the  fairies  feed  you.  Every  day 
has  its  harassing  rumors,  and  we  know  that  the  enemy 
will  strike  us  soon  ;  and  the  sooner  the  better,  for  the 
great  question  of  Liberty  can  be  decided  now  only  by 
hard  blows.  But  you  cannot  know  what  a  relief  it  is  to 
escape  from  the  dust,  heat,  and  din  of  labor  on  the  forti- 
fications, and  the  oversight  of  men  who  seem  little  better 
than  beasts  of  burden,  to  a  scene  like  this,  and  to  have 
you  hover  near  me,  my  dainty  Ariel.  Are  you  sure  you 
are  not  a  spirit  of  the  air,  an  emanation  of  this  romantic 
region  and  hour  ?  When  the  cold,  dark  days  come,  will 
not  you  and  your  rustic  bower  vanish  ?  If  I  come  next 
November,  and  give  our  musical  signal,  will  not  the  sigh- 
ing of  the  chilly  wind  be  my  only  answer  ?  Are  you  really 
flesh  and  blood?  " 

"  I  might  answer  with  Shylock,"  replied  Vera,  play- 


154  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

fully,  "  '  Have  I  not  eyes?  Have  I  not  hands,  organs, 
dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions  ? '  ' 

"  Still,  you  differ  vastly  from  ordinary  mortals.  How 
is  it  that  when  with  you,  such  a  sense  of  peace,  rest,  and 
deep  content  steals  into  my  heart  ?  " 

"  Another  has  said,  '  My  peace  I  give  unto  you,  not  as 
the  world  giveth  give  I  unto  you.'  It  is  that  which  you 
feel,  I  trust." 

"Who  said  that?" 

"  The  Prince  of  Peace — the  God  who  loves  us  both. 
Life  is  bringing  to  me,  as  well  as  to  yourself,  many  sad 
and  stern  realities.  I  live  as  you  do,  but  am  fed  much  as 
the  ravens  are,  not  knowing  where  to-morrow's  supply  is 
to  come  from  ;  only  sure  that  it  will  come.  You  know 
well,  Mr.  Saville,  that  there  is  now  nothing  sportive  and 
fairy-like  in  my  life,  and  yet  deep  in  my  heart  abides  per- 
fect peace." 

Its  reflection  was  on  her  face,  as  he  gazed  upon  it  long 
and  intently. 

"  May  it  never  be  disturbed,"  he  said  fervently.  "  I 
enjoy,  while  here,  but  the  pale  reflection  of  what  you 
possess.  But  it's  all  a  mystery,  like  yourself.  What's 
that  ? ' ' 

Far  to  the  southward  a  faint  light  illumined  the  dusk 
of  approaching  night.  While  they  looked,  another  and 
nearer  flame  sprang  into  the  sky,  and  soon  the  highest 
mountain-tops  all  along  the  river  were  ablaze. 

"What  do  they  mean?"  asked  Vera,  in  an  awed 
whisper. 

"  They  are  beacon  fires,"  said  Saville  excitedly  ;  "  the 
enemy  is  at  last  at  hand.  Good-bye,  my  little  wildflower  ; 
I  must  be  at  my  post  instantly.  May  the  hot  breath  of 
war  never  wither  your  bloom." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Vera  sadly  ;  "  but  remember,  I  shall 
be  here  in  November,  just  as  certainly  as  in  June." 

"While   I   live   I  will  seek  for  you,"  he  called  back 


BEACON  FIRES  155 

as  he  sprang  down  the  rocks  and  vanished  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

Vera  watched  the  ominous  glare  of  the  alarm-fires  for 
a  long  time,  and  then  sighed,  as  she  descended  to  her 
home, 

"Alas!  war  means  death  to  many,  and,  perhaps,  to 
him,  my  only  friend.  But  not  if  prayer  can  shield  him." 

She  found  her  father  watching  the  glare,  also,  in 
moody  silence.  Taking  his  arm,  she  stood  quietly  by 
him.  How  much  those  beacon  fires  might  presage  to 
both! 

"  They  have  come  at  last,"  he  said,  with  a  deep 
breath. 

"  Yes,  father,  no  doubt  the  English  ships  are  down 
the  river,  and  now  is  the  time  for  you  to  do  as  mother 
said — join  Mr.  Saville,  and  take  an  open  part  in  the 
struggle  for  liberty.  It  will  be  so  much  better  and 
safer." 

He  only  shook  his  head,  and  she  felt  his  arm  tremble 
beneath  her  hand. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  asked  hesitatingly,  "  we  could  find 
a  safer  place  than  this  ? — one  further  away  ?  " 

"No,  father;  none  half  so  safe  as  this.  We  cannot 
leave  this  place,  where  mother  died,"  she  answered,  so 
decidedly  that  he  yielded  to  her  stronger  will,  and  per- 
mitted himself  to  be  led  quietly  within  the  cabin  ;  but, 
in  accordance  with  his  old  habit,  he  sat,  a  sleepless 
watcher,  through  the  night,  in  his  dark  corner,  his  eyes 
moving  restlessly  at  the  slightest  sound  without.  Vera 
tried  to  watch  with  him,  but  her  head  soon  dropped  upon 
the  chair. 

Gala,  shading  the  light  with  her  hand,  looked  at  her 
calm  face  a  moment,  and  then  went  muttering  to  hei 
loft,  "  She  doesn't  hear  no  voices  yet." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

LIBERTY  PROCLAIMED  AMONG  THE  HIGHLANDS 

SEVERAL  evenings  passed  before  Saville  appeared 
again,  and  then  he  went  directly  to  the  cabin,  for  he  had 
tidings  for  both  father  and  daughter. 

"  I  wish  you  joy,  Mr.  Brown,"  he  cried,  as  they  went 
out  to  meet  him.  "  You  are  no  longer  under  British  law. 
This  is  a  free  country."  And  in  rapid  sentences  he  told 
them  of  the  formal  declaration  of  independence  on  the 
part  of  Congress,  and  of  its  joyous  and  hearty  ratification 
by  the  people,  as  far  as  they  had  been  heard  from. 

His  words  greatly  excited  both  his  listeners,  and  a 
sudden  gleam  of  exultation  appeared  upon  the  man's 
haggard  face.  Saville  saw  his  vantage,  and  added 
eagerly, 

"  I  have  been  selected  to  read  this  solemn  declaration 
to-morrow,  at  evening  parade,  before  all  the  troops  ;  and 
I  have  come  to  ask  you  and  Vera  to  be  present.  I  will 
put  you  under  the  charge  of  our  surgeon,  whom  Vera 
knows,  and  will  guarantee  your  safety.  Indeed,  your 
safety  largely  depends  upon  your  coming  ;  for  if  you  are 
known  to  be  present  and  approving  upon  such  an 
occasion,  it  will  disarm  suspicion,  and  all  will  recognize 
that  you  are  on  our  side." 

"We  will  come,"  said  Vera  decisively;  for  she  felt 
that  it  might  be  the  turning-point  in  their  lives. 

"  Oh,  no,  my  child  ;  I  cannot,"  cried  the  father  trem- 
blingly. 

"  Yes,  father ;  you  can  and  will,"  said  Vera  calmly, 
"  I  shall  go,  and  you  will  not  permit  me  to  go  alone." 


LIBERTY  AMONG  THE  HIGHLANDS         157 

Urged  by  his  strong  desire  to  verify  the  tidings  he  had 
heard  with  his  own  ears,  and  Vera's  gentle  coercion,  he 
yielded.  It  was  arranged  that  they  should  come  the 
following  day  to  a  point,  near  the  fort,  where  they  would 
find  Saville,  who  promised  to  give  them  a  position  which, 
while  not  conspicuous,  would  enable  them  to  hear  those 
pregnant  words  which  had  created  a  new  and  independ- 
ent nation. 

As  may  well  be  imagined,  Vera's  excitement  was 
scarcely  less  than  that  of  her  father,  though  more  con- 
trolled. She  was,  at  last,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  world 
and  its  inhabitants,  concerning  which  she  had  thought 
and  dreamed  so  much.  She  was  to  be  present  on  an 
occasion  of  pomp  and  military  display,  and  the  one  she 
loved  and  honored  as  the  most  excellent  man  existing, 
was  to  be  the  central  figure.  To  her,  he  embodied  the 
Declaration  which  he  was  to  read,  and  was  a  synonym 
for  liberty.  In  her  fancy,  she  compared  him  to  the 
youthful  David  of  Bible  history,  and  the  loftiest  Shake- 
spearian heroes  ;  and  her  heart  overflowed  in  gratitude 
to  God  that  he  had  raised  up  such  a  friend  and  deliverer 
for  her  and  her  father.  Through  his  kind  offices,  she 
already,  in  hope,  saw  her  father  restored  to  sound  reason 
and  useful  station,  and  both  gaining  a  respected  and 
recognized  place  in  society.  To-morrow  would  be  the 
auspicious  day  which  would  inaugurate  the  happy 
change. 

"  Mother  was  a  true  prophetess,"  she  said  to  herself  a 
hundred  times.  "  He  is  the  true  friend  whom  God  has 
raised  up  to  rescue  us." 

Temptation  was  indeed  coming  to  Vera  as  an  angel  of 
light,  but  as  yet  no  threatening  cloud  appeared  above  the 
bright  horizon.  As  the  thundergusts  lurked  behind  her 
native  mountains,  to  break  at  last  as  from  a  clear  sky,  so 
might  the  truth  come  to  her.  But  now,  with  the  un- 
quenched  confidence  of  a  child,  she  exulted  over  the  vista 


158  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

of  hope  and  promise  opening  before  her,  and  with  an 
affection  and  admiration  which  was  essentially  that  of  a 
sister  for  a  strong  and  gallant  brother,  she  permitted 
Saville  to  become  to  her  the  centre  of  all  earthly  ex- 
pectation. 

She  was  almost  as  sleepless  that  night  as  her  father, 
and  the  next  day,  an  hour  before  the  appointed  time  for 
starting,  was  dressed  in  all  the  simple  finery  she  possessed. 
And  simple  indeed  it  was  ;  for  neither  from  her  mother 
nor  her  foster  parent,  nature,  had  she  acquired  any 
artificial  or  gaudy  tastes. 

Moccasins  incased  her  feet.  Her  dark-blue  gown  was 
made  after  the  fashion  in  vogue  when  her  mother  was  a 
maiden  in  her  English  home,  and  was  fastened  at  her 
throat  by  a  quaint  and  ancient  brooch.  But  her  chief 
ornament  was  the  wealth  of  golden  hair  that  flowed,  un- 
confined,  far  down  her  shoulders.  Upon  her  head,  as 
jauntily  as  when  Saville  first  saw  it,  sat  the  plumage  of 
the  snowy  heron. 

Saville  wondered  at  her  beauty,  as  she  appeared,  glow- 
ing with  exercise  and  excitement,  at  the  rendezvous.  Her 
father  also  had  seemingly  nerved  himself  up  to  the  emer- 
gency, and  maintained  the  stately  bearing  of  a  gentleman 
of  a  former  generation  ;  while  Vera,  to  a  very  great 
degree,  had  removed  from  his  person  and  dress  the 
habitual  appearance  of  disorder. 

Saville  led  them  at  once  to  his  quarters,  and  placed 
before  them  such  refreshments  as  could  be  obtained  in  a 
mountain  garrison.  According  to  agreement,  the  bluff 
but  kindly  surgeon  soon  appeared,  and  did  his  best  to 
entertain  the  visitors.  Saville  would  have  introduced  a 
few  other  officers,  but  Mr.  Brown  had  stipulated  that 
he  should  make  the  acquaintance  of  no  other  person  than 
the  surgeon.  To  his  disordered  fancy,  danger  menaced 
from  every  one  who  obtained  knowledge  of  him.  Saville 
and  Vera  readily  acquiesced,  feeling  that  his  habit  of 


LIBERTY  AMONG  THE  HIGHLANDS         159 

reserve  and  morbid  fear  could  only  be  broken  grad- 
ually. 

But  Vera  was  more  than  content,  and  would  have  been 
in  a  state  of  childlike  wonder  and  delight,  had  she  been 
left  solely  to  the  enjoyment  of  the  new  and  strange  scenes 
witnessed  now  for  the  first  time.  But  with  Saville,  and 
the  surgeon  who  was  kind  to  her  mother,  at  her  side,  to 
explain  and  protect,  she  felt  that  her  cup  was  full  to 
overflowing. 

Saville  noted  with  pleasure  her  simple  grace  and  dignity 
of  manner.  She  was  \\\?,  protegee ,  and  he  had  felt  some 
anxiety  as  to  her  appearance  and  bearing,  and  also  lest 
she  should  be  painfully  embarrassed,  or  so  odd  in  dress 
and  manner  as  to  attract  unfavorable  notice.  But  her 
bearing  was  that  of  a  well-bred  but  diffident  child.  Her 
modest  deference  to  the  surgeon's  words  both  charmed 
and  disarmed  him  of  the  prejudice  which  her  father's  life 
and  reputation  had  created  ;  and  her  keen  and  intelligent 
interest  in  all  she  saw,  and  the  innocent  wonder  that  often 
found  expression  upon  her  mobile  features,  amply  repaid 
Saville  for  his  effort  to  secure  her  presence.  There  was, 
withal,  a  trace  of  quaint  Shakespearian  stateliness  in  her 
words  and  manner,  which,  to  one  of  his  tastes,  was  far 
more  pleasing  than  the  artificial  graces  of  the  prevailing 
mode. 

As  the  hour  approached  for  evening  parade  and  the 
ceremonies  attendant  upon  so  important  an  occasion, 
Saville  conducted  them  to  a  commanding  yet  sheltered 
position  beneath  some  overshadowing  trees,  from  which 
they  could  see  and  hear  all,  and  still  not  be  full  in  the 
public  eye.  As  Vera  noticed  this,  and  saw  how  relieved 
her  father  was  that  he  could  shrink  partially  out  of  sight, 
she  said, 

"  Do  you  read  one's  thoughts,  that  your  courtesy  is  so 
kind?  " 

"  I  should  be  dull  indeed,"  he  replied,  "  if  I  could  not 


160  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

read  your  thoughts,  and  most  unkind  not  to  please  one 
so  easily  pleased.  Good-bye,  now,  for  a  time.  I  must 
go  and  prepare  for  the  part  that  I  am  to  take. " 

"  I  am  proud  that  it  is  the  chief  part,"  she  said  exult- 
antly. 

Saville's  enthusiasm  over  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence had  scarcely  known  bounds,  and  so  attracted 
the  attention  of  his  brother  officers,  that  Col.  James 
Clinton,  the  commanding  officer,  said  laughingly, 

"  You  shall  read  it  at  evening  parade,  for,  judging 
from  the  feeling  you  show,  you  can  do  the  document 
more  justice  than  any  of  us." 

"I  shall  esteem  it  the  greatest  honor  of  my  life,  if  I 
may,"  responded  Saville  eagerly;  "for  I  see  in  this  in- 
strument the  inauguration  of  a  totally  new  condition  of 
society.  I  think  its  writer  was  inspired,  and  that  it  con- 
tains more  than  he  realized.  He  wrought  better  than  he 
knew.  Take  the  words,  '  all  men  are  created  equal,  and 
are  endowed  with  certain  inherent  and  inalienable  rights  ; 
that  among  these  are  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of 
happiness.'  Push  these  pregnant  sentences  to  their 
logical  conclusion,  and  they  level  all  arbitrary  distinc- 
tions, and  break  all  chains,  spiritual  and  temporal.  They 
will  make  all  men  sovereigns,  instead  of  vassals  and 
slaves  of  tyranny,  existing  on  earth  or  believed  to  exist 
somewhere  else." 

"  Hold  on,  Saville,"  cried  Clinton  ;  "  you  haven't 
quoted  correctly.  The  document  reads,  '  endowed  by 
their  Creator  with  certain  inherent  and  inalienable 
rights.'  A  Creator  that  can  endow,  can  also  impose 
restrictions." 

"I  admit,"  Saville  had  replied,  "that  in  the  letter  of 
its  phraseology,  the  instrument  accords  with  the  waning 
superstitions  of  the  times  ;  but,  as  I  said,  the  writer 
wrought  better  than  he  knew,  and  placed  there  the  germs 
of  a  golden  age,  wherein  man  will  be  supreme,  reason 


LIBERTY  AMONG  THE  HIGHLANDS          161 

holding  the  sceptre.  Suppose  we  break  the  bonds  of 
King  George,  how  can  we  possess  liberty  and  pursue 
happiness,  if  we  are  trammeled  on  every  side  by  what 
some  ancient  bigots  imagined  was  the  will  of  an  obscure 
Hebrew  Divinity  ?  If  we  must  be  governed  by  the 
myths  of  remote  antiquity,  in  the  name  of  reason,  let  us 
go  to  Greece  ;  for  there,  at  least,  we  shall  find  some 
breadth  and  beauty." 

"  If  I  saw  in  this  document  what  you  foreshadow,  I'd 
burn  it  instead  of  having  it  read,"  said  Clinton,  with  an 
oath.  "  I  see  in  it  only  independence  of  King  George, 
and  allegiance  to  the  God  of  my  fathers." 

"The  acorn  grows  slowly,"  Saville  answered;  "but 
when  it  grows,  the  shell  decays  and  drops  away." 

"Very  well,"  said  Clinton;  "you  shall  read  it,  and 
every  man  can  interpret  it  for  himself." 

And  so  it  had  been  arranged.  Apart  from  Saville's 
enthusiasm,  the  selection  would  prove  good  in  other 
respects,  for  he  had  a  fine  presence,  and  a  strong,  so- 
norous voice. 

As  the  sun  sank  behind  the  western  highlands,  the  tap 
of  the  drum  summoned  the  garrison  to  their  respective 
positions,  and  filled  all  minds  with  eager  expectancy. 
Vera  heard  the  confused  and  hurrying  tramp  of  feet,  and 
rapid  commands  from  officers  which,  though  unintelligi- 
ble to  her,  soon  crystallized  the  human  atoms  into  com- 
pact masses.  In  every  part  of  the  fort  and  island  that 
was  visible,  bodies  of  men  appeared  with  bayonets 
gleaming  above  their  heads.  Then,  with  a  precision 
and  order  which  only  military  discipline  can  produce, 
each  company  was  put  in  motion  by  a  single  word,  as  if 
all  were  swayed  by  one  will.  The  rhythmical  tread  of 
many  feet  echoed  and  reechoed  on  every  side,  and  soon 
the  open,  level  space  before  her  began  to  fill  with  angular 
masses  of  men.  At  first,  they  seemed  to  her  untaught 
eyes  like  human  blocks  placed  here  and  there  by  chance  ; 


162  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

but,  as  company  and  battalion  came  marching  forward 
to  the  music  of  fife  and  drum  till  they  seemed  to  form 
an  innumerable  host,  she  saw  the  angular  human  masses 
take,  as  it  were  by  magic,  the  outline  of  three  sides  of  a 
hollow  square.  The  martial  sounds  caused  every  nerve 
to  tingle,  and  looking  at  her  father,  she  saw,  with  a  thrill 
of  hope,  that  he  was  losing  his  shrinking  manner,  and 
that  his  eyes  were  kindling  with  a  grand  excitement  akin 
to  her  own. 

In  very  brief  time  the  lines  were  dressed,  and  the  men 
standing  like  serried  ranks  of  statues.  A  word  of  com- 
mand rang  out,  which  was  followed  by  a  subdued  crash, 
as  every  firelock  came  simultaneously  to  the  ground,  and 
the  ranks  became  statuesque  in  another  attitude.  She 
also  saw  that  in  the  meantime  every  cannon  had  been 
manned  along  the  extensive  line  of  breastworks.  A  little 
in  the  rear  of  the  nearest  stood  a  person  whose  strange 
costume  did  not  prevent  Vera  from  recognizing  as  the 
young  Irish  girl  whom  she  had  occasionally  met  in  her 
mountain  excursions.  It  was  no  other  than  the  redoubt- 
able Molly  O'Flarharty,  dressed  in  a  blue  petticoat,  the 
scarlet  coat  of  an  artilleryman,  and  a  cocked  hat  worn 
rakishly  on  one  side.  She  also  saw,  from  Molly's  steady 
gaze,  that  she  knew  both  herself  and  her  father;  but, 
while  the  woman's  bold  stare  gave  her  for  a  moment  an 
uncomfortable  impression,  she  soon  forgot  her  existence 
in  the  interesting  scenes  in  which  she  was  a  participant. 

When  all  were  in  position,  and  silence  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  preceding  din  and  tramp  of  feet,  Colonel 
Clinton,  with  his  staff  officers,  issued  from  the  shadow  of 
some  large  tents,  and  grouped  themselves  on  the  fourth 
and  open  side  of  the  square,  the  commander  being  a 
little  in  advance  of  the  others.  To  Vera,  as  they  stood 
there  in  as  brilliant  uniforms  as  the  times  and  their 
meagre  purses  permitted,  they  seemed  heroes  ot  the  first 
magnitude. 


LIBERTY  AMONG  THE  HIGHLANDS          163 

But  when  Saville's  tall  form  appeared,  and  he  ad- 
vanced and  saluted  Colonel  Clinton  with  the  erectness 
and  steadiness  of  a  trained  soldier,  combined  with  the 
ease  and  grace  of  one  who  had  seen  court  life  abroad, 
tears  of  exultant  pride  suffused  her  eyes,  and  she  mur- 
mured, "  He  towers  above  them  all." 

"  See  what  a  grace  is  seated  on  this  brow ; 
Hyperion's  curls;  the  front  of  Jove  himself; 
An  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command; 
A  combination,  and  a  form,  indeed, 
Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 
And  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man." 

A  deep  hush  fell  upon  the  garrison,  broken  only  by 
the  rustle  of  the  parchment  as  it  was  unrolled.  Even  the 
most  stolid  of  the  soldiery  could  be  seen  craning  their 
necks  that  they  might  hear  more  distinctly  the  words 
that  were  so  fraught  with  destiny  to  them  and  their  chil- 
dren. But  there  was  no  need  of  such  effort ;  for  Saville's 
powerful  voice,  like  a  trumpet,  sent  every  syllable  even 
to  the  artillerymen  standing  at  the  distant  guns. 

When  he  came  to  the  words,  "  We  hold  these  truths 
to  be  self-evident:  that  all  men  are  created  equal,"  he 
gave  to  them  such  emphasis  and  meaning,  that  they 
thrilled  all  present,  and  touched  the  deep  chord  of  human 
brotherhood  in  every  heart.  From  the  common  soldiery, 
who  felt  their  humble  station,  but  believed  that  this  truth 
made  them  peers  of  all  mankind,  there  went  up  an  irre- 
pressible shout,  whose  echoes  were  long  in  dying  away. 
Saville  smiled,  as  he  thought,  "Did  I  not  say  that  the 
germ  of  perfect  liberty  and  equality  is  in  these  words  ? 
ay,  and  the  instinct  of  the  masses  will  discover  it,  in  spite 
of  their  rulers.  Even  the  mere  announcement  causes 
these  poor  fellows  to  break  the  iron  bands  of  military 
restraint." 

More  than  once  the  reader  was  interrupted  by  out« 


164  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

bursts  of  applause,  or  by  groans  and  hisses  given  with 
emphasis  by  his  recent  subjects  for  King  George,  who, 
in  this  memorable  document,  was  to  hear  the  unvarnished 
truth  in  a  form  that  would  make  his  ears  tingle. 

It  was  indeed  a  remarkable  occasion  and  scene.  In 
the  words  themselves,  in  the  feelings  of  those  who  then 
for  the  first  time  heard  them,  and  especially  in  view  of 
the  results,  the  element  of  sublimity  was  preeminent.  It 
was  befitting  that  the  surroundings  should  be  sublime  ; 
that  there  should  rise  on  every  side  solemn  mountains, 
some  in  shadow,  some  crowned  with  light  and  glory, 
suggestive  of  the  checkered  fortunes  of  those  who  must 
fight  long  years  for  the  liberty  they  were  now  claiming. 
But  when  a  strong  current  of  popular  feeling  and  opinion 
sets  steadily  in  one  direction,  it  will  break  through  all 
barriers,  and  overcome  all  obstacles,  even  as  the  broad 
river  at  their  feet  had  cleft  its  way  through  miles  of 
granite  hills. 

As  the  last  words  fell  from  the  reader's  lips — "  And  for 
the  support  of  this  declaration  we  mutually  pledge  to 
each  other  our  lives,  our  foi'tunes,  and  our  sacred  honor," 
• — a  frenzy  of  enthusiasm  seized  upon  all.  The  lines  were 
partially  broken,  for  the  citizen  soldiery  were  too  recently 
from  their  democratic  homes  to  be  held  in  check,  had 
restraint  been  attempted.  The  three-cornered  continental 
hats  were  whirled  high  in  air,  and  the  prolonged  and 
deafening  shouts  were  but  partially  drowned  by  the  can- 
non that,  from  every  embrasure,  thundered  repeated 
salvos.  The  guns  of  Forts  Clinton  and  Montgomery 
were  soon  answering  like  mighty  echoes. 

Though  the  reader  had  acquitted  himself  admirably, 
he  was  content  to  be  forgotten  in  the  wild  excitement 
over  what  he  had  read,  and  escaped  almost  unnoticed  to 
Vera's  side.  As  he  saw  the  deep  intensity  of  feeling  ex- 
pressed in  her  dark  blue  eyes  and  earnest  face,  the 
thought  occurred  to  him,  "  She  is  not  a  child  ;  she  is 


LIBERTY  AMONG  THE  HIGHLANDS         165 

capable  of  becoming,  if  she  is  not  already,  a  heroic 
woman." 

The  father,  also,  was  so  changed  that  he  scarcely 
knew  him.  He  looked,  not  only  like  one  who  could 
fight  for  liberty,  but  lead  others  in  the  conflict.  Not 
from  him,  however,  but  from  Vera,  came  the  request 
that  they  might  now  depart. 

"  I  am  overpowered,"  she  said  ;  "  perhaps  if  I  had  had 
former  glimpses  of  the  strange  and  unknown  world,  I 
would  not  feel  so.  But  I  am  now  overwhelmed,  as  I 
imagine  one  of  the  old  prophets  must  have  been  just  after 
he  had  seen  a  vision." 

"The  excitement  has  been  too  much  for  you,"  said 
Saville  gently. 

"  Yes,  for  the  moment ;  but  I  have  seen  that  which  I 
can  think  over  and  dream  about  for  months.  I  am  very 
grateful  to  you  for  this  wonderful  experience  ;  but  let  us 
go  now,  and  when  you  come  again  I  shall  have  many 
questions  to  ask.  Mother  was  right — you  are  the  friend 
that  she  had  a  presentiment  you  would  become.  Oh, 
that  she  were  with  us  to-day  ! 

"  Your  mother  seems  ever  present  to  your  mind,"  said 
Saville,  in  a  low  tone,  as  they  walked  to  the  boat. 

"  Dear  mother  !  "  sighed  Vera,  in  a  tone  that  trembled 
with  tenderness  ;  "  perhaps  she  is  nearer  to  me  than  you, 
upon  whose  arm  I  lean." 

It  caused  Saville  a  sudden  and  sharp  pang  to  remem- 
ber, as  he  believed,  that  her  mother  had  vanished  into 
nothingness,  and  had  no  longer  any  existence. 

On  parting  at  the  landing,  Saville  took  Vera's  hand  in 
both  his,  and  said, 

"  I  have  learned  to  respect  you  very  much  to-day,  my 
little  friend.  I  think  you  are  ceasing  to  be  a  child,  and 
are  becoming  a  woman." 

"  I  would  rather  be  a  child  as  long  as  I  can,"  said 
Vera  humbly,  "for  I  have  so  much  to  learn." 


166  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Her  father  wrung  the  young  man's  hand,  and  said, 

"  I  shall  be  with  you  in  this  struggle  actively,  if  not 
openly." 

"Openly,  my  friend,  openly,  and  all  will  be  well," 
cried  Saville,  as  they  pushed  from  the  shore. 

If  he  had  taken  that  advice,  it  might  have  saved  him 
and  his  daughter  years  of  suffering. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON 

EARLY  in  the  season — indeed,  as  soon  as  it  became 
probable  that  his  native  city,  New  York,  would  be  the 
next  point  of  attack — Saville  had  commenced  to  chafe  at 
the  orders  that  kept  him  so  far  from  the  prospective 
scene  of  action,  and  made  him  little  more  than  an  over- 
seer of  the  soldier  laborers,  working  upon  fortifications. 
When,  at  last,  the  beacon  fires  and  subsequent  intelli- 
gence announced  that  the  enemy  were  in  the  harbor,  and 
the  city  was  liable  to  assault  at  any  moment,  he  could 
scarcely  restrain  his  impatience,  and  at  once  made  appli- 
cation to  be  transferred  to  the  main  army.  He  was  now 
daily  hoping  to  receive  the  orders  he  desired.  In  the 
uncertainty,  he  had  decided  to  say  nothing  to  Vera, 
since,  if  the  request  were  denied,  she  would  be  saved 
from  the  pain  of  fearing  his  departure  ;  and,  should  it  be 
granted,  she  would  be  preserved  from  days  of  anxious 
anticipation. 

But  in  the  meantime  events  occurred  which  intensified 
his  desire  to  visit  the  city,  and  he  began  to  feel  that  the 
duty  he  owed  his  mother  was  conflicting  most  painfully 
with  that  of  a  soldier.  If  he  could  only  remove  her  to  a 
place  of  safety,  he  would  even  be  content  to  return  to  the 
mountain  fort  where  there  was  no  immediate  prospect  of 
active  service.  This  anxiety  kept  him  on  the  alert  for 
every  rumor  from  the  city,  and  in  that  feverish  and  por- 
tentous time  there  were  rumors  innumerable. 

But  on  the  I3th  of  July,  while  directing  a  working  part 
in  the  construction  of  a  bastion,  he  noticed  two  sloops 
coming  up  the  river  at  an  unusual  speed.  The  wind  was 


168  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

blowing  very  strongly  from  the  southeast,  and  yet  they 
carried  so  much  sail  as  to  involve  danger,  and  at  times 
would  careen  over  to  the  water's  edge.  Saville  was 
something  of  a  sailor,  and  he  knew  that  none  of  the  easy- 
going skippers  of  the  river  craft  would  carry  all  the  can- 
vas they  could  raise,  in  such  a  gale,  unless  there  was 
urgent  reason. 

Scanning  them  through  his  glass,  he  was  soon  con- 
vinced that  there  was  reason,  and  that  events  of  great 
importance  had  occurred  below.  He  was  confirmed  in 
this  surmise  when  the  vessels,  instead  of  standing  on  past 
the  fort,  approached  the  shore,  and  came  up  before  the 
wind.  Even  while  casting  anchor  two  boats  shoved  off, 
and  a  few  moments  later  the  captains  of  the  sloops  were 
clambering  up  the  rocky  bank  and  asking  for  an  audi- 
ence with  Colonel  Clinton.  Saville  led  them  at  once  to 
the  commandant's  tent,  and  the  bluff  skippers,  almost  in 
a  breath,  said  : 

"  Colonel  Clinton,  look  well  to  your  guns.  The 
Britishers  attacked  the  city  yesterday  afternoon,  and 
some  of  their  largest  ships  were  a-standin'  straight  up  the 
river  when  night  closed  in.  If  they  keep  on  they'll  be 
here  afore  long." 

Then  followed  several  hurried  questions  and  answers. 
Clinton  was  a  prompt  man  and  a  brave  soldier,  and 
though  his  garrison  and  works  were  ill  able  to  cope  with 
English  ships  of  the  line,  he  had  no  other  thought  save 
that  of  resistance  to  the  last. 

"Make  all  sail,"  he  said  to  the  captains,  "for  New 
Windsor,  where  you  will  find  my  brother,  the  general. 
Tell  him  what  you  have  told  me.  Ask  him  to  order  out 
the  militia  at  once,  and  reinforce  me  at  the  quickest  pos- 
sible moment." 

The  captains  needed  no  urging,  and  scrambled  aboard 
their  vessels,  which  were  soon  lying  upon  their  sides 
again,  in  imminent  danger,  as  every  inch  of  canvas 


ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON  169 

swelled  with  the  freshening  gale.  But,  even  in  advance 
of  their  swift  progress,  and  in  accordance  with  a  precon- 
certed signal,  Colonel  Clinton  sent  the  echoes  of  a  heavy 
gun  booming  up  the  river,  warning  his  brother,  the  war- 
rior-governor, that  the  guardians  of  the  Highlands  must 
bestir  themselves  at  once. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Saville,"  he  said  to  the  anxious-visaged 
young  officer  ;  "  but  there  is  no  use  in  your  thinking  of 
getting  away  now.  The  garrison  is  ridiculously  weak  as 
it  is.  Out  with  every  man  who  can  handle  a  pick  or 
spade.  We  mast  fight  with  these  while  the  red-coats 
give  us  a  chance."  And,  having  put  everybody  in  mo- 
tion at  Fort  Constitution,  he  hastened  down  to  Forts 
Montgomery  and  Clinton,  to  push  forward  the  work 
there  also,  and  arrange  for  signals,  should  the  enemy's 
ships  appear. 

Saville,  as  a  good  soldier  often  must  do,  ignored  all 
personal  interests  and  affections,  and,  to  his  utmost,  sec- 
onded the  endeavors  of  his  commander.  In  order  to 
animate  the  men,  he  even  laid  hold  of  the  tools  himself, 
in  emergencies  that  required  unusual  effort  ;  and  the 
ramparts  seemed  visibly  to  grow  under  the  eager  labors 
of  officers  and  men. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  General  George  Clinton's  barge, 
filled  with  men,  was  descried  coming  down  the  river,  and 
the  belligerent  governor  was  soon  concerting  measures  of 
defense  with  his  brother,  who,  in  the  meantime,  had  re- 
turned. Having  informed  Colonel  Clinton  of  the  im- 
portant steps  he  had  taken,  and  of  the  various  regiments 
that  would  speedily  be  on  the  march  to  reinforce  the 
posts,  he  said, 

"  I  shall  make  my  headquarters  at  Fort  Montgomery, 
as  that  is  nearest  the  enemy.  I  want  to  take  down  with 
me  one  or  two  engineer  officers,  to  help  push  forward  the 
lines." 

"  Yonder  is  a  man  who  is  not  afraid  of  work,"  said  the 


170  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

colonel  ;  and  Saville  was  instructed  to  accompany  the 
governor  at  once,  and  told  that  his  baggage  would  be 
sent  after  him. 

The  day  passed,  and  brought  no  enemy  ;  but  the 
feverish  excitement  and  expectancy  were  not  permitted 
to  die  out  ;  for,  as  soon  as  darkness  closed,  the  hilltops 
far  to  the  south  began  to  blaze,  and  the  Dunderberg, 
Bear  Mountain,  Sugar  Loaf,  Cro'nest,  and  Butter  Hill 
speedily  assumed  their  crowns  of  flame. 

From  the  rocky  height  above  the  cabin,  Vera  and  her 
father  watched  the  ominous  glare,  for  a  long  time,  with 
deep  anxiety.  However  little  she  might  know  of  its 
cause,  one  thing  was  certain — it  portended  danger  to  her 
only  friend. 

On  her  was  imposed  already  the  most  painful  experi- 
ence of  war — woman's  helpless  waiting  and  watching  for 
those  they  love. 

Not  many  hours  later,  swift  riders  brought  tidings  to 
the  fort  that  the  admiral,  Lord  Howe,  had  come  to  co- 
operate with  General  Howe,  his  brother,  and  that  the 
active  campaign  would  no  doubt  commence  at  once. 

On  the  following  day  came  a  letter  from  Washington, 
urging  General  Clinton  to  do  what  had  already  been  ac- 
complished, for  the  energetic  governor  had  stirred  up  the 
whole  country.  In  the  evening  the  notes  of  the  drum 
and  fife  were  heard  along  the  river  road,  and  three  hun- 
dred of  the  hardy  Ulster  County  militia  marched  into  the 
fort. 

During  the  night,  Vera  saw  many  lights  on  the  moun- 
tainside, to  the  west ;  they  were  the  camp-fires  of  five 
hundred  men,  who  arrived  in  the  fort  early  the  next 
morning,  and,  after  a  brief  respite,  for  rest  and  refresh- 
ment, all  were  at  work  upon  the  fortifications,  every  man 
acting,  in  the  grand  excitement  of  the  moment*  as  if  all 
depended  on  himself. 

For  two  or  three  days  Saville' s  labors  were  incessant, 


ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON  171 

and  he  had  scarcely  time  to  obtain  necessary  rest.  But, 
as  matters  quieted  down  somewhat,  and  the  English  ships 
remained  quietly  at  anchor  in  Haverstraw  Bay,  he  found 
an  opportunity  to  slip  across  the  river,  on  a  visit  to  the 
mountain  cabin.  Vera  was  overjoyed  to  see  him  again  ; 
for,  from  her  eyries,  even  her  unpracticed  eyes  had  de- 
scried preparations  for  immediate  conflict  :  while  her 
father  was  tremblingly  eager  to  obtain  the  latest  tidings. 

"  I  am  out  with  my  rifle,"  he  said,  "  on  the  southern 
hills,  as  long  as  I  can  see  ;  and  you  have  one  vigilant 
scout  in  your  service,  if  he  is  unknown." 

"  Let  me  report  your  services  to  the  general,"  said 
Saville  ;  "  it  will  be  so  much  better  for  you  both,  if  your 
position  is  known." 

"  Not  yet,  not  just  yet,"  said  the  man  nervously.  "  I 
am  not  equal  to  it  yet :  you  must  give  me  time." 

And  so  the  fatal  delay  to  take  a  recognized  part  in  the 
war  continued. 

Saville's  visit  was  necessarily  brief,  for  he  could  not 
long  be  absent  from  his  post.  In  parting,  he  said, 

"  Good-bye,  once  more,  my  little  sister  ;  1  will  see  you 
again  soon  if  I  can,  but  in  these  times  we  do  not  know 
what  an  hour  will  bring  forth.  If  we  should  not  meet  in 
a  long  while,  you  must  not  grieve  too  much." 

"  I  should  not  sorrow,"  said  Vera  tearfully,  "  as  others 
who  have  no  hope  ;  for  I  believe  in  another  world,  and  a 
better  life  than  this,  where  we  shall  not  be  disturbed  by 
these  rude  alarms  ;  but  grieve  I  would — and  how  deeply, 
you  can  never  know.  Am  I  so  rich  in  friends  that  I  need 
not  grieve?  " 

"  How  will  it  be  when  you  come  to  have  many  ?  "  he 
asked,  half  playfully. 

Looking  full  into  his  eyes,  without  the  faintest  blush 
tinging  her  pale  cheeks,  she  said  earnestly, 

"  If  that  time  ever  comes,  you  will  still  be  first." 

They  accompanied  him  to  his  boat,  for  every  moment 


172  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

with  him  was  precious.  As  he  pushed  away  the  father 
said, 

"  I  shall  be  watching  on  the  Dunderberg  to-morrow." 

The  presence  of  English  ships  so  high  up  in  the  waters 
of  the  Hudson,  created  intense  excitement  along  its 
shores,  among  both  Whigs  and  Tories  ;  nor  was  the  gen- 
eral ferment  diminished  by  the  fact  that  the  enemy's 
boats  were  out  daily,  taking  soundings  far  up  towards  the 
Highlands.  Everything  indicated  that  they  were  pre- 
paring to  take  possession  of  the  river. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  Saville's  visit, 
signals  were  seen  along  the  mountainsides,  which  indi- 
cated that  the  enemy  were  approaching.  The  drums 
beat  to  arms,  and  all  were  ordered  to  their  posts.  The 
guns  were  manned,  and  the  matches  ready  for  lighting. 

Before  very  long,  one  of  the  tenders  of  the  British  ships 
was  seen  beating  up  against  a  stiff  northern  breeze,  which 
would  enable  her  to  retire  rapidly  in  case  of  danger. 
But  the  occupants  of  the  fort  supposed  that  the  men-of- 
war  were  following,  and  prepared  for  the  worst.  Larry, 
whose  company  had  been  again  ordered  down  to  Fort 
Montgomery,  was  stationed  near  a  long  thirty-two 
pounder  which  had  the  best  range  of  the  river,  and  was 
not  a  little  nervous,  now  that  his  amorous  enlistment  had 
brought  him  face  to  face  with  something  more  than  gar- 
rison duty  ;  but  his  wife,  Molly,  aflame  with  excitement, 
hovered  near  him,  voluble  now  with  gibes  and  taunts,  and 
again  with  words  of  cheer.  The  element  of  fear  seemed 
totally  lacking  in  her  composition,  and  in  this  respect  her 
influence  was  good  over  the  raw  recruits,  who  dreaded 
to  "show  the  white  feather,"  as  it  was  termed,  where  a 
woman  was  undaunted.  Thus  she  became  a  privileged 
character,  and  was  tolerated,  as  useful  camp-followers 
often  are.  Many  an  awkward  fellow,  though  badly 
frightened,  would  rather  march  to  a  cannon's  mouth 
than  receive  a  scornful  glance  from  Molly's  black  eyes ; 


ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON  173 

and  if  she  gave  a  man  an  opprobrious  nickname,  it  stuck 
to  him  like  a  burr.  Colonel  Clinton  would  often  laugh, 
as  he  said, 

"  Molly  makes  soldiers  out  of  the  militia  faster  than 
the  drill  officers." 

But  Larry  had  become  proof  against  all  her  sarcasms. 
He  had  philosophically  accepted  his  matrimonial  fate, 
and  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  her  keenest  thrusts. 

But  that  English  vessel  which  was  beating  slowly  up 
against  the  wind,  and  the  others  that  he  believed  to  be 
following,  might  give  him  something  harder  to  digest 
than  words,  and  he  heartily  wished  himself  back  in  the 
"  Ould  Counthry,"  even  though  there  was  "  not  a  praty 
in  the  bin."  But  he  had  nerve  enough  to  go  through 
with  his  duties,  and  that  was  all  that  was  required  of 
him. 

At  last  it  was  thought  that  the  vessel  was  in  range,  and 
the  governor  himself,  as  well  as  the  officer  in  command 
of  the  artillery,  ran  his  eye  along  the  gun. 

"  Fire  !  "  he  cried. 

Every  eye  was  strained,  and  happy  were  they  who  had 
glasses.  A  shout  of  exultation  went  up,  as  the  ball  was 
seen  to  plow  into  the  tender's  quarter,  and  applause  was 
again  and  again  repeated  as  she  quickly  went  about  and 
scudded  down  the  river  before  the  wind.  The  echoes 
had  scarcely  died  away,  before  Larry  breathed  freer  in 
the  hope  that  the  attack  would  not  be  made,  and  that  he 
should  "  live  to  fight  another  day." 

Saville  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  follow  the 
tender  in  his  sailboat,  and  observe  her  movements,  and 
was  soon  skimming  along  before  the  breeze  at  a  rate  that 
would  make  it  necessary  to  drop  his  sail,  unless  he  wished 
to  enjoy  the  hospitality  of  a  British  prison-ship.  As  it 
was,  he  approached  so  near  that  a  brass  howitzer  on  the 
tender  was  brought  to  bear  upon  him,  and  the  ball  passed 
over  his  head,  striking  the  water  a  little  to  the  leeward. 


174  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

He  concluded  to  run  his  boat  into  a  sheltering  cove,  until 
the  tender  sailed  out  of  range ;  but  in  doing  so,  had  nar- 
row escapes  from  two  more  shots.  He  did  not  know  that 
the  self-appointed  scout  was  watching  all  from  the  sides 
of  the  Dunderberg,  and  that  Vera  would  grow  pale  as  she 
heard  of  his  peril. 

When  the  tender  had  receded  sufficiently,  he  reefed  his 
sail  and  followed  more  cautiously,  contenting  himself  with 
the  use  of  his  glass.  He  had  not  proceeded  far,  be- 
fore the  English  vessel  suddenly  rounded  to,  and  cast 
anchor.  A  boat  was  lowered,  and  Saville  first  thought 
that  they  intended  giving  him  a  chase,  in  the  hope  that 
he  might  be  captured,  since  he  would  have  to  beat  up 
against  the  breeze.  But,  confident  of  the  sailing  abilities 
of  his  little  craft,  he  determined  to  let  them  come  within 
range  of  his  rifle  before  going  about. 

But  the  boat,  on  the  contrary,  was  pulled  steadily 
towards  shore  ;  and  soon  a  farmhouse,  at  the  base  of  the 
mountain,  was  in  flames,  while  the  cries  of  its  occupants 
came  to  him  faintly  against  the  gale. 

"Do  they  call  that  war?"  muttered  Saville  indig- 
nantly. "  I  must  have  a  shot  at  those  base  marauders." 
And  he  ran  his  boat  in  shore,  behind  a  projecting  rock, 
and  unshipped  the  mast,  so  that  nothing  could  be  seen. 
Then,  seizing  his  rifle,  he  sprang  up  the  mountainside, 
and  made  the  best  speed  he  could,  over  the  rocks,  through 
the  copse-wood,  towards  the  burning  dwelling. 

The  work  of  destruction  was  complete,  and  the  incen- 
diaries had  already  embarked  before  he  came  within 
range.  He  feared  they  would  be  out  of  reach  before  he 
could  get  a  shot.  But  the  boat  had  proceeded  from  the 
shore  but  a  little  distance,  when  a  sharp  report  rang  out 
from  the  sides  of  the  Dunderberg,  and  the  stroke  oars- 
man fell  over  backward.  This  caused  some  confusion 
and  delay,  and  Saville  gained  on  the  boat  rapidly.  But, 
after  a  moment  or  two,  the  oars  struck  the  water  more 


ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON  175 

vigorously  than  ever,  and  Saville  was  about  to  fire,  and 
do  the  best  he  could,  when  a  second  well-aimed  shot  dis- 
abled the  oarsman  who  had  been  substituted,  and  again 
delayed  progress  somewhat. 

He  now  sprang  down  the  rocks  towards  the  water,  and 
whipping  out  the  glass  that  was  slung  over  his  shoulder, 
endeavored  to  distinguish,  if  possible,  the  form  of  the 
officer  in  command,  feeling  that  he,  more  than  any  of 
the  rest,  deserved  punishment.  Though  this  man,  with 
the  cowardice  in  keeping  with  his  deed  of  rapine,  sought 
to  hide  himself  among  the  crew,  Saville' s  glass  revealed 
his  insignia  of  rank.  Leaning  his  rifle  over  a  rock,  he 
took  deliberate  aim,  and  fired  ;  then,  taking  up  his  glass, 
he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  craven  spring  up, 
and  fall  overboard,  while  his  cry  of  pain  came  distinctly 
across  the  water.  He  was  immediately  pulled  on  board, 
but  whether  dead  or  alive,  Saville  could  not  tell,  and  in 
a  moment  or  two  more  the  boat  passed  out  of  range.  The 
few  random  shots  that  had  been  fired  by  the  marines  pat- 
tered harmlessly  against  the  rocks ;  for  the  two  fatal 
marksmen  were  well  concealed. 

Saville  now  remembered  that  Mr.  Brown  had  said 
that  he  would  be  watching  on  the  Dunderberg  that  day, 
and  he  at  once  surmised  that  it  was  he  who  had  fired  the 
first  two  shots.  In  the  hope  of  seeing  him  and  taking 
him  back  in  his  boat,  he  sent  his  powerful  voice  far  up 
the  mountain,  . 

"  A  friend — Saville." 

"  I  believe  you  are,  Mr.  Saville,"  said  a  quiet  voice  at 
his  side  ;  and  to  his  surprise,  on  looking  around,  he  saw 
the  object  of  his  thoughts  standing  before  him. 

"  How,  in  the  name  of  the  impossible,  did  you  get  here 
without  my  seeing  you  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  that  I  could  be  something  of  a  scout,  and 
wished  to  prove  it." 

"You  can  be  invaluable  if  you  will,"  said  Saville, 


176  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

shaking  his  hand  heartily.  "  Those  were  splendid  shots 
you  made." 

"  Yours  was  a  better  one,  and  at  a  longer  distance. 
I  am  glad  you  hit  that  miscreant  in  command.  I 
would  have  sighted  him,  but  I  saw  you  coming,  and 
wished  to  delay  the  boat  till  you  got  within  range.  But  it 
would  have  been  an  infernal  shame  to  have  let  that  fel- 
low escape,  for  he  treated  the  inmates  of  the  farmhouse 
brutally.  Good  God  !  the  thought  of  such  a  wretch  com- 
ing to  my  cabin  in  my  absence  !  " 

"  Mr.  Brown,  you  owe  it  to  your  lovely  daughter  to 
place  her  in  some  position  of  safety  in  these  troublous 
times." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  muttered  the  father,  with 
contracting  brows. 

"  Let  us  find  an  asylum  for  her  and  old  Gula  at  once, 
and  then  do  you  openly  join  the  army.  I  will  look  after 
your  interests." 

"  I  believe  I  will,"  said  the  exile  hesitatingly  ;  and  he 
suffered  Saville  to  lead  him  to  his  boat. 

If  they  had  been  near  the  fort  all  might  have  been 
well,  and  the  man  enrolled  in  the  Continental  service. 
But,  as  he  sat  quietly  in  the  boat,  while  it  tacked  slowly 
up  the  river  against  the  wind,  his  blood  had  time  to  cool. 
Reaction  from  the  fatigue  and  excitement  of  the  day  set 
in.  One  of  the  old  waves  of  fear  and  despondency  be- 
gan to  surge  over  his  unstable  mind,  and  Saville  heard 
him  mutter, 

"  My  God  !  I  have  shot  two  English  soldiers.  If  ever 
apprehended,  my  fate  is  made  doubly  certain." 

At  last  he  said  piteously,  "  Put  me  ashore  anywhere  ; 
I  can  go  no  further." 

Saville  reminded  him  of  his  promise,  and  pleaded  with 
him  to  keep  it  for  Vera's  sake,  but  soon  saw  that  it  was 
in  vain. 

"  Put  me  ashore,"  was  the  only  response,  and  uttered 


ECHOES  ALONG  THE  HUDSON  177 

in  tones  that  were  almost  savage.  Then  he  added,  half 
apologetically,  "  I  am  not  myself  now,  and  all  I  can  do 
is  to  cower  and  hide.  I  will  see  you  again  soon." 

Saville  reluctantly  acquiesced. 

"  Say  not  a  word  about  me  till  you  have  my  consent," 
said  his  trembling  companion  ;  and  he  dashed  into  the 
thickest  copse-wood,  as  if  his  only  thought  were  conceal- 
ment. 

Alas  for  Vera ! 


CHAPTER  XV 
SAVILLE'S  NIGHT  RECONNOISSANCE 

SAVILLE  proposed,  on  the  following  day,  to  visit  the 
cabin,  in  the  hope  of  finding  its  owner  in  a  better  mood. 
He  was  more  and  more  convinced  of  the  wrong  of  leaving 
Vera  so  exposed,  and  with  no  better  protector  than  one 
who,  at  times,  was  ready  to  fly  from  his  own  shadow. 
He  saw  that  her  father's  mind  was  more  shattered  than 
he  had  supposed,  that  he  could  not  be  depended  on  even 
from  hour  to  hour,  and  was  fast  coming  to  the  conclusion 
to  act  independently  of  his  will,  if  possible. 

But  early  in  the  day  came  the  startling  tidings  that 
the  British  men-of-war — the  Phcenix,  carrying  forty 
guns,  and  the  Rose,  twenty,  were  standing  steadily  up 
the  river. 

Again  there  was  preparation  for  immediate  conflict,  but 
the  vessels  came  to  anchor  within  six  miles  of  the  fort, 
and  there  remained  quietly. 

With  the  enemy,  however,  in  such  close  proximity,  no 
one  could  leave  his  post  that  night  or  the  next  day. 

Governor  Clinton  was  greatly  alarmed,  and  with  good 
reason.  The  river  was  deep,  and,  with  a  fair  wind,  the 
ships  could  speedily  pass  his  guns,  unless  disabled  ;  and, 
once  above  the  Highlands,  a  rich  and  defenseless  country 
was  open  to  ravage.  He  feared  that  they  might  take 
advantage  of  some  dark  night,  and  slip  by  him  in  the 
deep  shadows  of  the  mountains. 

To  prevent  this,  the  shores  were  lined  with  guards,  and 
the  river  patroled  by  boats.  Huge  piles  of  brushwood, 
and  other  inflammable  materials,  were  placed  at  various 
points  along  the  shore  opposite  the  fort,  and  these  were 


SA  VILLE'S  NIGHT  SECONNOISSANCE        179 

to  be  kindled  after  nightfall,  the  moment  it  was  discovered 
that  the  ships  were  under  weigh.  Thus  the  fort  would 
remain  in  darkness,  while  the  men-of-war  must  pass  dis- 
tinctly through  the  transient  glare,  and  so  become  ex- 
cellent targets. 

The  cannoniers  slept  by  their  guns,  while  Molly's 
scarlet  coat  flamed  along  the  ramparts  by  day,  and  she 
flitted  hither  and  thither  almost  as  restlessly  at  night. 
Every  morning  found  her  as  morose  and  vixenish  as  one. 
of  the  wildcats  of  her  native  mountains,  because  the 
signal  fires  had  not  blazed,  and  that  all  had  remained 
quiet  on  the  Hudson. 

There  soon  came  a  day  on  which  there  was  a  steady 
downfall  of  rain,  and  it  was  feared  that  the  brush-heaps 
and  combustibles  would  become  so  dampened  that  they 
would  not  kindle.  The  night  promised  to  be  excessively 
dark,  and  Saville  learned  that  the  general  was  growing 
anxious. 

He  again  volunteered  to  go  in  his  boat  on  aTeconnois- 
sance,  and  his  offer  was  gladly  accepted. 

"  If  we  fire  three  shots  in  instant  succession,  you  may 
know  that  the  ships  are  under  weigh  up  the  river,  but  if 
we  fire  at  intervals,  give  no  heed,  for  it  may  be  necessary 
in  self-defense,  or  we  may  have  a  skirmish." 

"  Don't  do  anything  rash,"  said  the  governor.  "  You 
are  such  a  fire-eater,  that  I  scarcely  expect  to  see 
you  again." 

Saville  chose  two  active  young  fellows,  who  had  been 
boatmen,  to  accompany  him,  and  with  muffled  oars 
they  pulled  vigorously  at  first,  till  they  began  to  approach 
the  hostile  vessels.  Then  they  permitted  themselves  to 
drift  slowly  with  the  tide,  which  was  in  their  favor.  The 
darkness  had  become  perfectly  intense,  and  there  was 
not  a  sound  save  the  heavy  patter  of  rain  on  the  water. 
They  drifted  for  a  period  that  seemed  interminable  to 
their  excited  minds,  and  then  Saville  whispered, 


180  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HE  AST 

"  I  fear  we  shall  pass  without  seeing  them.  The  fact 
that  they  have  no  lights  out  is  very  suspicious." 

Scarcely  had  he  spoken  when  the  gentle  breeze  from 
the  south  caused  a  slight  creaking  of  cordage  so  near 
that  it  seemed  just  over  their  heads.  He  at  once  crept 
cautiously  to  the  bow  of  his  boat,  and  put  out  his  hands, 
so  that  it  might  not  strike  with  even  the  slightest  con- 
cussion. 

It  was  not  long  before  a  faint  black  outline  loomed  up 
over  him,  and  a  moment  later  his  hands  touched  the 
sides  of  a  ship.  Feeling  stealthily  along,  he  found  that 
he  was  near  the  bow,  and,  by  standing  up,  was  able  to 
hold  his  boat  for  a  time  in  motionless  silence.  He  could 
hear  the  confused  sound  of  voices,  and  the  step  of  the 
officer  of  the  watch,  but  nothing  definite. 

At  last,  footsteps  and  voices  approached  the  bow  of  the 
ship  under  which  he  stood.  Some  one  said  distinctly, 

"  It's  cursed  dark." 

"  Yes  ;  but  that  would  be  in  our  favor,  if  we  only  get 
a  little  more  wind  from  the  present  quarter,  and  could 
feel  our  way  up  through  these  black  hills.  It's  just  the 
time  to  catch  the rebels  napping." 

Saville  concluded  that  he  would  now  put  a  word  in 
their  counsels. 

"  Have  my  pistol  ready,"  he  whispered  to  the  nearest 
of  his  companions. 

Then,  by  a  powerful  effort,  he  pushed  his  boat  well 
away  from  the  ship,  and  shouted, 

"  But  the  rebels  are  not  napping,  and,  as  proof,  take 
that,"  and  he  fired  his  pistol  where  he  supposed  the 
group  to  be. 

There  was  a  sharp  cry  of  pain,  followed  by  great  con- 
fusion for  a  moment,  and  in  the  meantime  Saville' s 
companions  pulled  rapidly  away. 

"  Here,  a  lantern,  quick !  Hold  it  over  the  side," 
shouted  a  hoarse  voice. 


SA  YULE'S  NIGHT  RECONNOISSANCE        181 

This  was  all  that  Saville  desired,  and  taking  up  his  rifle 
he  fired  instantly,  and  man  and  lantern  splashed  over- 
board. 

"Lights,  lights!  man  the  guns!  every  man  to  his 
post!"  roared  the  same  gruff  voice.  "This  comes  of 
playing  bo-peep  in  the  dark.  The  cursed  rebels  might 
put  a  keg  of  powder  under  our  quarter,  and  blow  us  up." 

"Would  to  the  gods  I  had  thought  of  that  before," 
cried  Saville;  "but  I  thank  you  for  the  suggestion  all 
the  same." 

"  Stop  his  mouth  with  grape  shot,"  thundered  the 
officer.  "  Isn't  there  a  musket  or  a  pop-gun  aboard, 
that  no  one  can  fire  a  shot?  " 

"  Pull  sharp  to  the  left,"  said  Saville  to  his  oarsmen. 

The  confusion  and  uproar  on  the  ship  were  so  great 
that  a  moment  or  two  elapsed  before  the  officer's  order 
could  be  obeyed,  and  then  a  bow-gun  belched  forth 
the  iron  hail,  and  a  scattering  fire  from  muskets  com- 
menced ;  but  the  balls  only  cut  harmlessly  into  the 
water  in  the  region  where  the  bold  patrols  had  been. 

When  once  under  the  rayless  shadow  of  the  western 
mountain,  Saville  felt  safe  from  pursuit.  In  the  mean- 
time numerous  lights  appeared  on  the  other  ships,  and 
indicated  their  positions. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you,"  said  Saville  to  his  compan- 
ions, "  to  do  something  that,  after  all,  is  not  so  dangerous 
as  it  seems.  The  ships  there  are  lighted  up,  while  com- 
plete darkness  covers  us.  One  of  you  can  scull,  I 
suppose." 

"Yes  ;  both." 

"  Who  is  the  best  shot?  " 

"  I  used  to  bring  a  squirrel  out  of  the  tallest  trees," 
said  one  of  the  rnen. 

"  Well,  by  sculling  we  can  move  noiselessly  around 
among  the  ships,  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other, 
and  make  them  think  there  are  a  dozen  boats  here 


182  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

instead  of  one.  I  wish  two  shots  fired  in  rapid  succession 
occasionally,  to  increase  the  impression  of  numbers. 
In  this  way  we  can  keep  them  in  an  uproar  and  state  of 
alarm  all  night,  while  we,  by  moving  rapidly  from  point 
to  point,  will  run  but  little  risk  of  being  hit." 

His  companions  had  the  nerve  to  enter  upon  the  scheme 
at  first  with  zest  ;  and  one  of  them,  seizing  an  oar,  soon 
propelled  the  boat  within  range  of  the  ship  with  which 
they  had  first  come  in  contact.  Dropping  well  astern, 
they  approached  slowly  and  cautiously  her  nearest 
quarter.  Soon  the  outline  of  a  human  form  gave  Saville 
a  fair  mark,  and  his  rifle  again  rang  out  with  startling 
distinctness  in  the  silent  night. 

The  man  with  the  oar  then  sculled  rapidly  towards  the 
eastern  shore,  passing  directly  aft  of  the  vessel.  Again 
there  was  the  trampling  of  feet,  and  a  hurried  giving  of 
orders,  and  many  shots  were  fired  in  the  direction  from 
whence  had  been  seen  the  flash  of  Saville's  rifle.  But, 
in  the  momentary  delay,  the  lively  little  craft  had  passed 
so  far  to  the  eastward  as  to  be  out  of  range. 

"  Now,"  said  Saville,  "let  us  give  them  two  shots  on 
the  other  quarter.  The  moment  we  fire,  scull  down  the 
river.  Come  around  well  abreast,  so  that  it  will  seem  as 
if  our  shots  were  fired  from  another  boat." 

In  a  few  moments,  the  firing  from  the  ship  ceased,  as 
it  seemed  to  produce  no  effect  ;  but  there  was  evidently 
great  excitement  on  board. 

They  had  scarcely  reached  the  position  which  Saville 
desired,  when  several  men  were  sent  aloft  with  lanterns, 
in  the  hope  that  their  rays  might  penetrate  the  darkness 
more  effectually. 

"Steady  and  careful  now,"  said  Saville.  "Let  us 
each  pick  off  one  of  those  fellows  in  the  rigging.  Fire 
just  after  me." 

Thus  to  the  bewildered  and  harassed  marines  two 
flashes  came  from  a  new  and  unexpected  point. 


SA  VILLE'S  NIGHT  BECONNOISSANCE        183 

Saville's  man  dropped  plump  on  the  deck,  the  other 
let  his  lantern  fall,  and,  after  an  ineffectual  effort  to 
climb  down,  fell  also. 

But  the  enemy  were  now  better  prepared,  and  bullets 
fell  thickly  around  the  unseen  assailants. 

Fortunately  they  escaped,  and  soon  reached  a  point 
to  the  south  where  their  position  was  unsuspected. 

"  They  are  getting  too  sharp  for  us  here,"  said  Saville  ; 
"  suppose  we  next  have  a  skirmish  with  that  big  fellow 
yonder." 

His  companions  agreed,  but  rather  reluctantly  ;  for 
this  measure  of  attacking  an  English  fleet  was  more  than 
they  bargained  for  on  leaving  the  fort. 

"I  will  give  you  a  crack  across  her  bow,"  said  the 
man  at  the  oar;  "but  would  rather  not  go  any  lower 
down." 

It  was  arranged  that  two  shots  should  be  fired  again. 
Drifting  with  the  tide,  they  slowly  approached  the  second 
and  larger  ship,  which  was  the  Phoenix,  and  watched  for 
their  opportunity.  In  the  meanwhile,  comparative  silence 
was  again  restored,  though  it  was  evident  that  all  hands 
on  both  the  ships  of  the  line  and  their  tenders  were  kept 
in  sleepless  vigilance  at  their  posts  by  their  ubiquitous 
assailants,  who  numbered  but  three. 

At  last,  dusky  forms  appeared,  and  the  two  rifles  again 
awoke  the  sleeping  echoes,  but  with  what  effect  could  not 
be  seen. 

The  commander  of  the  Phoenix,  however,  warned  by 
the  experience  of  the  other  ship,  had  stationed  marines  all 
along  the  sides  of  his  vessels,  and  the  return  volley  was 
so  prompt  and  accurate  that  Saville's  fellow  marksman 
was  slightly  wounded.  Happily  the  man  at  the  oar  es- 
caped, and  they  again  passed  out  of  range,  by  going 
towards  the  western  shore,  and  the  English  officers  soon 
checked  the  useless  firing  at  random. 

But  Saville  had  effected  his  object.     There  would  be 


184  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

no  sleep  on  the  British  vessels  that  night,  nor  any  hope  of 
catching  the  "  rebels  napping."  So  he  hoisted  sail,  and 
quietly  stood  up  the  river,  leaving  the  sorely  puzzled  and 
not  a  little  frightened  British  crews  standing  at  their  guns 
and  alarm-posts,  so  that  any  attempt  at  boarding,  on  the 
part  of  the  indefinite  number  of  rebels  imagined  in  the 
surrounding  darkness,  might  be  repelled. 

Saville  and  his  companions  received  high  praise  for 
their  conduct,  and  were  soon  sleeping  peacefully,  while 
the  harassed  enemy  remained  on  the  alert  until  daybreak. 

NOTE. — The  incidents  of  the  preceding  chapters  are  largely 
founded  on  fact.  The  tidings  of  the  irruption  of  the  British 
ships  into  the  waters  of  the  Hudson  were  brought  as  described. 
A  tender  of  these  ships  ventured  within  range  of  Fort  Mont- 
gomery, and  received  a  shot  in  her  quarter.  On  retiring  down 
the  river,  her  boat  was  sent  ashore,  a  farmhouse  burned,  and  the 
boat,  on  returning,  was  fired  upon.  The  Phoenix  and  Rose 
approached  within  six  miles  of  the  fort,  and,  whenever  oppor- 
tunity offered  the  English  vessels  were  annoyed  by  marksmen 
in  boats  or  from  the  shore. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

DARK   DAYS 

OK  the  following  day  the  commanders  of  the  British 
vessels  satisfied  themselves  that  fuller  preparations  for 
resistance  had  been  made  than  they  supposed  ;  and,  not 
relishing  the  experience  of  the  preceding  night,  nor  con- 
sidering it  safe  to  remain  in  a  position  where  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  mountains  might  afford  concealment  until 
an  attacking  force  was  close  upon  them,  they  ordered 
their  ships  down  the  river  to  the  old  anchorage. 

Fear  of  immediate  attack  having  passed,  Saville's 
thoughts  recurred  to  Vera  and  her  father,  and  he  pro- 
posed visiting  them  that  evening,  hoping  that  he  might 
find  Mr.  Brown  in  a  condition  to  carry  out  the  measures 
on  which  his  own  and  Vera's  welfare  depended.  But 
during  the  afternoon  he  was  hastily  summoned  to  head- 
quarters. 

"  I  can  now  give  you  a  quasi  leave  of  absence,"  said 
General  Clinton;  "and  you  have  earned  it.  Go  and 
look  after  your  mother's  safety.  But  first  deliver  these 
dispatches  to  his  Excellency,  General  Washington. 
They  are  important,  and  must  reach  him  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment.  Your  escort  will  be  ready  within  an 
hour  on  the  further  shore.  I  have  mentioned  your  name 
with  praise  in  my  dispatches,  and  though  I  shall  feel 
your  loss,  you  will  probably  be  assigned  to  duty  in  the 
main  army.  When  things  are  somewhat  settled,  your 
heavy  baggage  will  be  sent  after  you.  And  now,  sir, 
hasten.  Give  these  papers  into  his  Excellency's  own 
hands,  or  into  those  of  his  private  secretary." 

Saville  was  greatly  pleased  at  this  turn  of  affairs,  and, 


186  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART  J 

in  the  excitement  and  bustle  attendant  upon  his  hurried 
departure,  forgot  for  a  time  the  inmates  of  the  cabin. 
When  he  did  remember  them,  it  was  with  a  pang  of 
genuine  pain  and  regret,  that  he  could  not  see  Vera 
before  his  departure.  As  this  was  impossible,  he  penned 
a  few  hasty  lines,  explaining  his  sudden  movements,  and 
urging  that  she  should  find  a  safer  retreat,  and  th^t  her 
father  should  enlist  openly  in  the  war.  This  was  sent  to 
the  surgeon  at  Fort  Constitution,  with  the  request  that  he 
would  deliver  it.  Unfortunately,  the  missive  was  never 
received. 

Having  arrived  in  New  York,  and  delivered  his  dis- 
patches as  directed,  Saville  received  permission  to  pro- 
vide for  his  mother's  safety. 

The  old  lady,  however,  would  not  leave  her  city  home, 
asserting, 

"  I  have  naught  to  do  with  this  unnatural  broil,  and 
shall  demand  protection  from  both  parties." 

But,  after  all,  her  chief  motive  was  the  desire  to  be 
near  her  beloved  son,  who,  she  hoped,  might  be  assigned 
to  duty  upon  the  works  that  were  going  up  at  various 
points  on  the  island.  In  this  expectation  she  was  ready 
to  endure  the  terrors  attendant  upon  the  city's  bombard- 
ment. 

Saville  therefore  gave  up  his  leave  of  absence,  and  at 
once  reported  for  duty  again.  In  consideration  of  his 
natural  desire  to  see  more  of  his  mother  after  so  long  an 
absence,  he  was  given  charge  of  the  construction  of  some 
redoubts  not  far  from  his  own  house,  and  at  a  point 
where  his  wife  could  plainly  scan  his  movements  with  a 
glass.  Often  and  darkly  she  scowled  upon  him. 

But  the  disastrous  battle  of  Long  Island  soon  occurred, 
and  was  speedily  followed  by  the  retreat  of  the  American 
forces  from  the  city  and  island.  Saville,  in  his  sphere, 
and  to  the  extent  of  his  ability,  seconded  Washington's 
masterly  use  of  the  pick  and  shovel  in  the  disheartening 


DARK  DAYS  187 

campaign  that  followed.  He  now  sought  thoroughly  to 
learn  his  profession,  and  became  an  efficient  officer. 
Washington  learned  to  know  something  of  his  value, 
finding  that  he  had  promptness  and  energy,  which  en- 
abled him  to  accomplish  much  even  with  few  men  ;  and 
at  times,  defenses  reared  in  a  night  were  worth  regi- 
ments. 

On  the  4th  and  5th  of  November,  the  British  forces 
began  to  retire  from  before  Washington's  strong  position 
in  the  interior  of  Westchester  County,  taking  the  roads 
leading  southward  and  towards  the  river.  As  soon  as  it 
became  evident  that  the  enemy  would  cross  into  the  Jer- 
seys and  menace  Philadelphia,  Saville  was  sent  thither  to 
aid  in  strengthening  the  defenses  of  that  city.  Thus  his 
hope  of  seeing  Vera  at  the  close  of  the  fall  campaign  was 
disappointed.  He  wrote  to  her  again,  as  he  had  several 
times  before,  in  care  of  the  surgeon  at  Fort  Constitution. 
But  that  officer  had  been  assigned  to  duty  elsewhere,  and 
the  letters  never  reached  their  destination.  Saville  com- 
forted himself  with  the  hope  that  Vera  was  informed  of 
his  movements  and  continued  remembrance. 

As  day  after  day  passed,  and  nothing  was  seen  or 
heard  of  her  friend,  a  great  dread  began  to  chill  Vera's 
heart.  Her  father  had  come  back  from  his  watch  on  the 
Dunderberg  in  a  wretched  condition  of  mind.  With 
scarcely  a  word,  he  had  cowered  all  the  long  night  in  his 
dark  corner.  But,  as  the  result  of  rest  and  quiet,  the 
incubus  lifted  from  his  mind  somewhat  in  the  morning, 
and  Vera  heard  of  Saville' s  peril  in  following  the  tender 
down  the  river,  and  of  his  firing  into  the  marauder's 
boat.  Of  his  own  share  in  the  transaction  her  father  was 
characteristically  silent,  even  to  his  daughter. 

On  the  dark  and  stormy  night  of  Saville's  reconnois- 
sance,  the  southern  breeze  had  borne  faintly  through  the 
damp  air  the  reports  of  the  guns.  To  her,  every  such 
sou  ad  now  meant  danger  to  him. 


188  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HE  AST 

The  days  passed,  and  still  he  did  not  come.  Her 
father  told  her  that  the  ships  had  moved  down  the  river. 
As  far  as  she  could  judge,  the  garrison  opposite  had  no 
apprehension  of  immediate  attack.  She  urged  her  father 
to  go  down  to  Fort  Montgomery  and  make  direct  in- 
quiries;  but  vainly.  Saville's  prolonged  and  unexplained 
absence  had  awakened  his  morbid  suspicions  and  fears, 
and  his  mind  was  so  shattered  that  he  was  not  capable  of 
the  effort. 

A  look  of  wistful,  anxious  expectancy  became  the  ha- 
bitual expression  of  Vera's  face.  The  slightest  sound 
startled  her.  In  her  daily  tasks,  her  face  was  ever  to- 
wards the  window.  The  breaking  of  a  twig,  the  bark  of 
a  squirrel,  brought  her  to  the  door.  She  often  ventured 
down  to  the  shore,  and  strained  her  eyes  in  the  vain 
effort  to  recognize  him  on  the  island  opposite.  Constant 
prayer  for  his  welfare  and  speedy  return  was  in  her  heart. 

At  the  twilight  hour,  when  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
appear,  she  would  climb  to  the  rocky  height  behind  the 
cabin,  and  wait  and  watch,  as  they  who  are  wrecked  on 
a  barren  island  scan  the  horizon  for  a  ship.  As  dusk 
deepened  into  night,  her  despondency  would  become 
more  leaden  and  oppressive.  Then  she  would  drag  her 
heavy  steps  back  to  the  cabin,  and  sigh  and  sob  herself 
to  sleep. 

Not  even  Gula's  entreaties  could  induce  her  to  eat 
much,  and  she  grew  wan  and  spirit-like  indeed.  The 
old  woman  began  to  shake  her  head  ominously,  and 
mutter, 

"  I'se  afeard  she's  beginnin'  to  hear  voices.  'Twill  be 
orful  lonely  if  she  goes  home  afore  ole  Gula." 

One  evening  after  she  had  been  vainly  watching,  she 
tried  to  sing  the  musical  signal  which  he  had  so  often 
answered  by  voice  and  flute, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows."   , 


DARK  DA  YS  189 

She  sang  one  line  with  a  pathos  that  would  have 
touched  the  stoniest  nature,  and  then  held  her  throbbing 
heart  to  listen.  The  weird  notes  of  a  whippoorwill  from 
the  lonely  valley  were  the  only  answer. 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  ground,  like  a  child,  in  an 
agony  of  grief,  and  wept  until  utterly  exhausted.  When 
she  looked  up,  the  lurid  glare  of  the  beacon  fires  was 
again  upon  the  mountain-tops,  but  he  had  not  come. 

"  O  God  !  "  she  sighed  wearily.  "  I  am  a  weak  child. 
I  had  but  one  friend — one  brother.  Where  is  thy 
mercy  ?  " 

41  O  mother !  are  you  happy  in  heaven,  when  I  am  so 
lonely  ? ' ' 

Poor  Vera  was  in  the  deepest  mystery  of  earthly  disci- 
pline. Her  God,  her  mother,  and  her  friend,  all  seemed 
to  have  deserted  her  that  night,  and  she  could  scarcely 
drag  her  weary  feet  to  the  home  where  no  gentle  sym- 
pathy awaited. 

Her  father  was  away  upon  the  hills  with  his  rifle  most 
of  the  time,  and  was  wholly  absorbed  by  his  interest  in 
the  progress  of  the  war,  at  which  he  could  only  guess,  as 
he  would  speak  to  no  one.  Vera  had  hoped  that  he 
might  again  meet  Saville,  and  whenever  he  returned,  she 
eagerly  questioned  him. 

Old  Gula,  in  her  strange  superstition,  sorrowed  mostly 
for  herself,  as  she  saw  Vera  growing  pale  and  weak  like 
the  parent  who  had  died. 

44  Young  missy  is  a  gwine  home  to  her  mudder,  and  I'll 
be  left  all  alone.  Why  can't  de  voices  call  me  too  ?  " 

On  the  evening  after  her  almost  despairing  grief,  Vera 
said  to  herself,  "  I  can  endure  this  suspense  no  longer. 
He  is  either  sick,  wounded,  or  dead  ;  for  he  could  not 
have  left  without  a  word  of  farewell.  I  will  go  to  the 
fort  and  find  out.  He  may  have  needed  my  help,  while 
I  have  been  weakly  mourning  for  him." 

Nerved  by  this  thought  she  waited  not  a  moment,  lest 


190  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

her  maidenly  timidity  should  obtain  the  mastery.  For 
his  sake — impelled  by  the  thought  that  he  might  possibly 
be  in  need  of  her  care — she  could  venture  to  face  the 
stare  of  strangers. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  row  her  light  skiff  to  the  oppo- 
site shore,  and  bitter  tears  filled  her  eyes  as  she  thought 
of  the  two  former  occasions  on  which  she  had  crossed  at 
that  place. 

Near  the  spot  where  she  had  landed  when  in  quest  of 
the  surgeon,  she  saw  a  small  group  of  men,  and,  from 
their  uniforms,  surmised  that  they  were  officers.  It  oc- 
curred to  her  that  she  might  question  them,  and  be  saved 
the  ordeal  of  meeting  others.  She  concluded  to  ask  for 
the  surgeon,  since,  if  Saville  were  sick,  wounded,  or — 
her  heart  sickened  at  the  thought— he  would  know  all  the 
facts. 

Unfortunately,  the  officers  whom  she  was  about  to  ad- 
dress were  wild,  reckless  fellows,  who  had  made  their 
norinal  condition  worse  by  liquor. 

"  There's  a  rare  bird,"  cried  one,  as  Vera  approached. 

"  I  would  see  Mr.  Jasper,  the  surgeon,"  she  said 
modestly,  with  downcast  eyes  ;  "  and  crave  the  favor  of 
being  shown  where  I  may  find  him." 

"The  surgeon,  pretty  miss!  you  have  no  need  of  a 
surgeon.  It  is  a  gay  young  gallant  like  myself  you  are 
looking  for." 

"  You  do  me  great  wrong,  sir,"  she  replied  coldly  ; 
"  and  if  there  is  a  man  of  honor  present,  he  will  grant 
my  request." 

"We  have  no  surgeon,"  continued  the  first  speaker 
recklessly.  "  A  soldier's  only  business  is  to  die,  and  to 
have  a  jovial  time  while  he  can.  So  come,  my  pretty 
one,  exchange  your  frowns  for  smiles." 

"  As  you  are  men,"  cried  Vera  desperately,  trembling 
like  a  leaf,  "have  respect  for  a  defenseless  girl,  and  tell 
me  where  I  may  find  Surgeon  Jasper." 


DARK  DAYS  191 

The  instincts  of  a  gentleman  still  lingered  in  one  of  the 
party,  and,  in  response  to  this  appeal,  he  said  soberly, 

"  He  is  right,  miss  ;  there  is  no  surgeon  at  the  present 
moment  in  the  garrison,  Dr.  Jasper  having  been  ordered 
away." 

"Then — then — may  I  see  Mr.  Saville  ?  "  faltered 
Vera. 

"  Saville,  Saville,"  laughed  the  first  speaker  coarsely. 
"  She  had  him  in  mind  all  the  time." 

In  pity  for  her  distress,  the  second  speaker  again  came 
to  her  relief,  and  said, 

"  Lieutenant  Saville  is  not  here,  and  I  have  heard  that 
he  was  ordered  hastily  to  New  York." 

"  Come,  my  lass  o'  the  hills,"  struck  in  the  tipsy 
youth.  "  The  crows  have  eaten  Saville  before  this.  I'll 
be  to  you  a  far  better  lover." 

"  For  shame,  Dick,  let  her  alone.  Saville  will  call  you 
to  bloody  account,  if  he  hears  of  this  nonsense." 

"  Things  have  come  to  a  fine  pass,"  blustered  the  fel- 
low, "if  I've  got  to  ask  Saville's  permission  to  speak  to  a 
mountain  wench.  By  Jove  !  I'll  kiss  her,  if  I  fight  a 
dozen  Savilles,"  and  he  started  forward  to  give  the 
insult. 

Vera,  with  her  old  instantaneous  quickness,  which  had 
once  surprised  Saville,  eluded  him,  sprang  into  her  skiff, 
and  was  out  in  the  stream  in  a  moment,  while  her  in- 
sulter,  unsteady  from  liquor,  missed  his  footing,  and  fell 
into  the  water.  His  companions  roared  with  laughter  at 
his  plight,  and  ere  he  could  scramble  out,  sputtering  and 
profane,  Vera  was  half-way  across  the  river. 

Every  nerve  in  the  poor  girl's  body  was  tingling  with 
indignation  and  fear,  when  she  reached  the  shore.  She 
scarcely  had  strength  to  climb  over  the  hills  to  the  cabin, 
and  then  fainted  across  its  threshold. 

Old  Gula  was  in  sore  dismay,  but  had  sense  enough  to 
carry  her  to  the  cool  spring,  and  bathe  her  face.  At  last 


192  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

she  slowly  revived,  but  was  seriously  ill  for  several 
days. 

Still,  the  bitterness  of  her  mental  trouble  had  been  re- 
lieved, for  Saville's  absence  was  accounted  for.  He  had 
been  ordered  hurriedly  away.  In  her  strong  trust,  she 
believed  that  there  had  been  no  opportunity  for  a  fare- 
well visit,  and  there  was  no  necessity  for  thinking  that 
he  was  either  sick,  wounded,  or  dead.  Although  he  was 
exposed  to  the  innumerable  risks  of  a  brave  man  in  an 
active  campaign,  her  confidence  increased  that  God 
would  spare  him  in  answer  to  her  prayers. 

With  reviving  hope  and  faith,  her  strength  and  vigor 
returned  ;  for,  in  her  case,  the  spiritual  and  physical  or- 
ganizations were  so  closely  allied  that  one  could  not  suf- 
fer without  keen  sympathy  from  the  other.  But  in  both 
she  was  naturally  healthful,  having  been  nurtured  in  the 
atmosphere  of  truth,  and  the  bracing  air  of  the  mountains. 

Her  father,  upon  her  illness,  seemed  at  last  somewhat 
conscious  of  his  daughter's  need,  and,  in  his  poor  way, 
sought  to  meet  it.  He  waited  upon  her  with  unwonted 
tenderness,  and  brought  the  delicacies  of  wood  and 
stream  ;  but  he  had  lost  the  power  to  speak  soothing  and 
appreciative  words.  His  own  disordered  mind  was  tossed 
on  such  a  sea  of  troubles,  that  he  had  no  calming 
thoughts  for  another. 

Thus,  in  her  sad  isolation,  Vera  was  compelled  to  look 
heavenward,  and,  in  her  long  hours  of  weakness,  the  un- 
seen world  of  faith  grew  very  near  and  real.  She  felt 
sure  that  her  mother  was  watching  at  her  side,  and  in  the 
night,  at  times,  fancied  she  saw  the  dear,  familiar  form. 
The  impression  was  often  so  strong,  that  she  would  reach 
out  her  arms  with  expressions  of  endearment,  or  speak 
her  thoughts  with  the  freedom  of  olden  time,  when  sure 
of  loving  sympathy. 

Her  mother's  favorite  text,  "  Let  not  your  heart  be 
troubled,"  acquired  daily  richer  and  fuller  meaning,  and 


DARK  DA  YS  193 

the  ability  to  trustfully  cast  all  her  burdens  on  her 
Saviour  increased. 

So,  although  the  strain  and  nervous  excitement  of  the 
past  year  had  been  very  great,  she  slowly  but  surely 
rallied  back  into  her  old,  vigorous  health.  She  would 
need  it  all  in  her  coming  desperate  struggle  for  bare 
existence. 

By  the  time  she  had  fully  recovered,  the  autumn 
winds  were  prophesying  of  winter,  and,  with  a  fore- 
thought learned  in  the  hard  school  of  experience,  she 
realized  the  necessity  of  making  all  possible  provision. 
She  knew  how  little  her  father  was  to  be  depended  on, 
and  he  might  grow  worse.  Therefore,  as  she  grew  strong, 
she  became  busily  engaged  with  her  old  playmates,  the 
squirrels,  in  hoarding  everything  that  could  be  preserved 
for  coming  use. 

As  her  father  could  not  be  induced  to  join  the  Conti- 
nental service  openly,  she  persuaded  him,  as  far  as  she 
could,  to  resume  his  old  hunting  and  trapping  pur- 
suits. 

It  might  be  a  long  time  before  she  would  see  Saville 
again,  or  before  her  hope  of  finding  friends  and  a  recog- 
nized place  in  society  would  be  realized.  So,  nothing 
remained  but  the  patient  performance  of  present  duties. 

And  yet  the  dangers  resulting  from  her  position,  and 
her  father's  vain  effort  to  hide  from  all  observation,  were 
increasing.  Nothing  so  attracts  attention  as  unusual 
efforts  to  shun  it,  and  nothing  so  piques  curiosity  as  mys- 
tery and  concealment. 

Relieved  from  Saville' s  immediate  presence,  it  was  not 
long  before  Molly's  tongue  began  to  wag  again,  in  dark 
hints  as  to  the  uncanny  character  of  the  inmates  of  the 
cabin.  While  such  gossip  had  no  weight  with  the 
officers,  it  had  with  certain  of  the  ignorant  soldiery,  and 
gradually  Vera  and  Gula  were  acquiring  the  titles  of  the 
"  white  and  black  witches  of  the  Highlands."  If  Molly 


194  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

had  urged  on  some  of  the  baser  sort,  over  whom  she  had 
obtained  almost  all  the  power  of  a  gypsy  queen,  Vera's 
homely  duties  might  have  found  tragic  interruption  ;  but 
a  wholesome  fear  of  Saville's  vengeance  restrained  her. 
And  yet  Vera,  unconsciously,  was  living  over  a  mine 
which  might  be  fired  at  any  time. 

To  the  officers,  also,  Brown,  from  his  seclusion,  and 
the  fact  that  no  one  could  account  for  him,  was  an  ob- 
ject of  suspicion,  and  they  would  be  inclined  to  deal 
summarily  with  him  should  any  one  bring  a  definite 
accusation. 

But  though  wrong-doing  in  the  past,  and  most  unwise 
action  now,  must  cause  their  legitimate  evil  results,  God 
would  not  permit  his  child  to  suffer  beyond  her  ability  to 
endure. 

During  the  month  of  October,  the  beacon  fires  had 
often  flamed,  and  yet  while  Vera  and  her  father  saw  that 
there  was  unusual  stir  and  preparation  in  the  garrisons, 
and  extraordinary  efforts  to  obstruct  the  navigation  of 
the  river,  no  attack  was  made,  and  they  remained  in 
almost  total  ignorance  of  the  progress  of  the  war. 

At  last  the  exile  could  endure  his  anxiety  no  longer, 
and  he  determined  to  find  out  the  condition  of  affairs  ; 
but,  with  his  old  characteristic  caution,  went  across  the 
mountains  to  an  interior  village,  for  the  ostensible  pur- 
pose of  barter.  He  had  in  his  mind  the  inoffensive- 
appearing  old  man  whom  he  had  once  before  ventured  to 
question,  and  felt  that  if  circumstances  favored,  he  could 
do  so  again  without  risk. 

He  found  the  aged  gardener  at  work  as  before,  and  as 
talkative  as  ever.  But  the  dismal  tale  that  he  told  of  the 
American  defeat  on  Long  Island,  of  the  evacuation  of 
New  York,  of  continued  retreats,  and,  worse  than  all, 
of  the  second  irruption  of  the  British  ships  into  the  Hud- 
son, caused  Mr.  Brown's  cheeks,  already  pale,  to  grow 
more  ashen. 


DARK  DAYS  195 

••  How  is  it  you  don't  know  'bout  these  things?  "  asked 
the  old  man  with  sudden  curiosity. 

"  I  live  back  in  the  mountains,"  was  the  hasty  reply  ; 
and  the  fear-stricken  man  waited  for  no  further  ques- 
tions, but  started  for  the  hills,  with  the  one  desire  to  find 
in  them  some  impenetrable  recess  for  concealment. 

At  first,  he  was  bent  upon  leaving  the  cabin  at  once  ; 
but  Vera,  with  gentle  firmness,  refused  to  listen  to  any  of 
his  wild  plans.  She  saw  clearly  that  the  time  had  come 
when  her  judgment  and  will  must  be  supreme.  But  he 
ventured  less  and  less  abroad,  and  the  impression  ap- 
peared to  grow  upon  him  that  his  dusky  corner  was  the 
safest  place.  Here  he  would  often  remain  all  day,  and 
sometimes  through  the  night  also,  apparently  dreading  to 
move. 

As  one  of  the  results  of  her  father's  condition,  the  task 
of  providing  food  devolved  chiefly  on  Vera  ;  and  the  bleak- 
ness of  November  and  the  biting  cold  of  winter  often 
chilled  her  weary  frame,  as  she  wandered  over  the  hills 
in  quest  of  game.  But  the  chill  at  heart,  the  cold,  dreary 
despondency  which  often  crept  over  her  while  engaged 
in  these  unwomanly  and  unseasonable  labors,  was  harder 
to  bear,  She  could  not  now  anticipate  the  welcome  of  a 
gentle  and  sympathetic  mother  on  her  return.  Even 
when  cold  and  exhausted,  she  almost  dreaded  going 
back  to  the  cabin  where  her  father  crouched  and  cow- 
ered, haunted  by  fears  that  were  becoming  contagious, 
and  where  weird  old  Gula  muttered  and  mumbled  un- 
ceasingly of  her  unearthly  voices.  The  poor  girl  herself 
was  growing  morbid  in  her  misfortunes  and  unnatural 
surroundings. 

The  hard  struggle  for  mere  existence  began  to  blunt 
her  finer  sensibilities,  and  she  was  often  too  weary  for 
even  prayer  or  thought.  Like  many  others,  under  the 
increasing  stress  of  earthly  care,  she  permitted  herself  to 
lose  gradually  her  hold  upon  the  divine  strength  and 


196  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

patience,  which  her  mother  had  ever  enjoyed  through 
her  confiding  and  unquestioning  faith.  Not  that  she 
entertained  doubts  of  God's  ability  and  willingness  to 
help,  or  cherished  resentful  thoughts  at  her  lot ;  but,  in 
the  pressure  of  daily  duties,  prayer  was  neglected.  She 
was  drifting  unconsciously  from  the  quiet  waters,  where 
faith  had  kept  her  spirit  moored  in  peace,  out  upon  the 
restless  sea  of  mere  human  endeavor  and  dependence. 
Like  many  another,  she  could  still  pray  "  Lead  me  not 
into  temptation,  and  deliver  me  from  evil;"  but  for 
"  daily  bread  "  she  turned  practically  to  her  traps  in  the 
thickets,  to  her  fowling-piece,  and  to  the  diminishing 
stores  that  her  own  hands  had  gathered.  Unfortunately, 
the  question  of  daily  bread  was  the  absorbing  one,  and, 
as  we  have  seen,  it  did  not  bring  her  near  the  Divine 
source  of  spiritual  largeness  and  growth.  Thus  her  life 
began  to  grow  hard,  material,  and  devoid  of  those  influ- 
ences which  had  made  her  appear  to  Saville  more  akin 
to  the  supernatural  world  in  which  she  believed,  than  the 
tangible  one  which  was  all  to  him. 

The  poor  child  was  learning  to  employ  bodily  fatigue 
as  many  use  narcotic  drugs,  and  sought  to  escape  from 
her  desperate  loneliness  in  the  oblivion  of  sleep,  when- 
ever her  tasks  permitted.  In  dreams,  at  least,  she  oc- 
casionally saw  her  mother's  loved  face  bending  over  her, 
with  the  old  expression  of  tenderness ;  more  frequently 
Saville' s  flute  gave  the  musical  signal  from  the  rocky 
height  above  her  grotto,  and  she,  in  spirit,  hastened  to 
the  tryst ;  but  ever  to  awake  and  find  it  only  a  dream. 
Although  she  would  sob  herself  to  sleep  again,  she  would 
still  hope  for  the  return  of  the  vision,  that  she  might  once 
more  see  his  face  and  hear  his  voice. 

Vera  began  to  realize,  in  some  degree,  that  she  was 
growing  narrow,  and  dwindling  towards  a  mere  animal 
existence  ;  and  she  shed  bitter  tears  over  the  truth.  She 
sometimes  tried  to  overcome  the  tendency,  and  would 


DARK  DAYS  197 

take  down  the  Bible,  or  the  Plays,  after  the  labors  of  the 
day  ;  but  her  head  would  soon  droop  upon  the  page,  and 
the  pine  knots  sink  into  ashes,  as  had  her  hopes. 

Her  father  was  dreading  lest  he  should  become  known, 
and  compelled  to  carry  his  secret  into  the  presence  of 
questioning  curiosity.  With  almost  terror  at  the  thought, 
Vera  began  to  ask  herself, 

"  Am  I  always  to  live  this  life?  Am  I  to  be  left  here 
till  I  become  little  better  than  the  beasts  and  birds  of 
prey  that  hide  in  these  mountains?  Indeed,  I  envy  them  ; 
for  they,  at  least,  have  companions  of  their  own  kind." 

She  was  able  to  feel  her  isolation  more  keenly  since 
she  had  been  given  a  glimpse  of  the  world,  and,  in  her 
intimacy  with  Saville,  had  learned  to  know  the  sweets  of 
congenial  society  and  friendship. 

Though  so  very  young,  she  was  becoming  one  of 
earth's  weariest  pilgrims,  and  at  times  she  almost  felt, 
when  benumbed  with  cold,  like  lying  down  in  some  wild 
mountain-gorge,  and  letting  the  snow  drift  over  her  as 
she  sank  to  sleep.  If  she  had  believed,  with  Saville, 
that  it  would  have  been  a  dreamless,  eternal  sleep,  she 
would  undoubtedly  have  yielded  to  the  temptation. 

Thus  the  winter  dragged  heavily  on,  till  the  sun  turned 
from  its  decline  southward,  and  began  to  fill  the  moun- 
tains with  brighter  and  more  genial  rays.  But  she,  who 
had  always  welcomed  this  change,  scarcely  heeded  it. 
Perhaps  the  sharp  suffering  and  seemingly  untoward 
events  soon  to  come,  would  be  better  than  the  slow,  in- 
creasing pressure  of  the  sordid  cares  and  loneliness  of  her 
lot.  Immediate  and  pressing  dangers  might  break  up  the 
apathy  of  practical  unbelief,  wherein  God  becomes  a 
being  who  must  be  prayed  to  and  served,  but  ceases  to 
be  a  helpful,  sympathetic  friend.  Anything  that  would 
drive  her  to  him  as  a  refuge  would  be  a  blessing  ;  any- 
thing that  broke  the  leaden  monotony  of  her  life,  a  health- 
ful change. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

"THE  WHITE  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS '' 

IN  the  latter  part  of  February,  the  stores  in  their  little 
cabin  ran  so  low  that  it  was  necessary  they  should  be 
replenished  by  a  visit  to  some  country  store.  But  her 
father,  from  long  inaction  and  brooding,  was  in  his  worst 
mood,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  Vera  besought  him  to  go  on 
the  errand.  At  last,  in  her  desperation,  she  decided  one 
morning  to  go  herself.  On  ascending  the  hill  behind  the 
cabin,  she  saw  that  the  river  was  covered  with  smooth 
ice.  She  went  down  to  the  point  of  land  which  enabled 
her  to  look  up  the  river,  and  through  the  cold,  clear  air, 
the  villages  of  New  Windsor  and  Newburgh  seemed  not 
far  away.  Returning,  she  took  a  little  of  their  hoarded 
money,  and,  without  a  word  to  her  father,  started  on 
what  was,  to  her,  like  the  voyage  of  Columbus,  a  journey 
into  the  unknown.  Her  only  weapon  of  defense  was  a 
light,  strong  staff,  pointed  with  iron,  which  would  enable 
her  to  try  the  ice,  and  also  assist  in  walking.  She  kept 
close  to  the  western  shore,  so  that,  like  a  timid  hare,  she 
might  fly  to  cover,  if  she  deemed  it  necessary.  Though 
she  found  the  way  longer  than  she  supposed,  and  the 
effort  to  walk  on  the  smooth  ice  against  the  wind  very 
fatiguing,  she  reached  in  safety  the  shores  of  New 
Windsor,  where  she  saw  a  building  whose  appearance 
led  her  to  hope  that  she  might  there  obtain  what  she 
wished.  To  her  joy  the  surmise  proved  correct,  and  she 
was  saved  further  weary  steps.  She  asked  and  obtained 
permission  to  sit  down  and  rest  awhile.  Many  and 
curious  were  the  glances  cast  upon  her  by  the  loungers 
that  always  infest  such  places,  especially  in  winter. 

Some  tried  to  engage  her  in  conversation,  but  there 


"  THE  WHITE  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS11  199 

was  something  in  their  tones  and  manner  that,  though 
she  did  not  understand,  she  disliked,  and,  with  an  innate 
dignity  and  reserve,  which  is  a  true  woman's  sure  pro- 
tection unless  men  are  equal  to  brute  violence,  she 
silenced  them.  She  would  have  gladly  hastened  away, 
had  she  not  felt  that  rest  and  the  warmth  of  the  place 
were  essential  for  a  time  before  starting  on  the  homeward 
journey  with  her  laden  basket. 

Among  the  men  present,  when  she  entered,  was  a 
knot  of  rough-looking  soldiers,  who  had  impressed  her 
most  disagreeably.  They  had  stared  at  her  a  few  mo- 
ments, winked  at  each  other,  and  then  to  her  relief,  de- 
parted. 

As  soon  as  she  felt  equal  to  the  effort,  she  started  home- 
ward ;  but  the  sun  was  already  declining  ;  the  sky  also 
was  becoming  overcast,  and  the  rising  wind  betokened 
a  storm.  By  the  time  she  reached  Butter  Hill,  the  snow- 
flakes  began  to  fly,  and  not  a  solitary  form  was  seen  on 
the  dreary  expanse  of  ice,  where,  in  the  morning,  travelers 
had  appeared  in  the  distance. 

Still,  this  did  not  trouble  her,  for  she  did  not  dread  a 
storm  as  much  as  she  feared  meeting  rude  fellows  coming 
or  going  from  the  garrisons  below.  Her  only  concern 
was  lest  the  snow  might  make  her  progress  dangerous, 
by  covering  the  occasional  air-holes  that  almost  always 
occur  in  the  ice  among  the  Highlands. 

But,  imagine  her  dismay,  when,  on  passing  around  the 
point  of  a  mountain,  she  came  upon  a  group  of  soldiers, 
apparently  lying  in  wait.  With  sickening  fear,  she 
recognized  in  them  the  ill-favored  fellows  she  had  seen 
in  the  store  at  New  Windsor. 

She  hesitated,  and  was  about  to  turn  back  ;  but  they, 
with  devilish  cunning,  seemed  to  give  her  no  heed. 

"  I  have  naught  to  do  with  them,  nor  they  with  me," 
she  thought ;  "  and  no  doubt  they  will  let  me  pass  with- 
out a  word." 


200  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Indeed,  they  moved  out  towards  the  middle  of  the 
river,  as  if  intending  to  pursue  their  way  without  regard 
to  her.  This  gave  Vera  renewed  hope,  and  the  chance 
to  keep  near  the  shore  as  she  desired. 

When  she  reached  a  point  where  the  mountain  shelved 
perpendicularly  down  to  the  water,  rendering  its  ascent 
impossible,  they  turned  sharply  on  her,  one  shouting 
brutally, 

"  So  ho !  ye're  the  white  witch  o'  the  mountains,  are 
ye  ?  But  the  divil  himself  can't  help  ye  now,  'less  ye  fly 
up  the  rocks." 

Vera  gave  the  precipice  a  despairing  glance  :  even  she 
could  not  scale  it.  There  was  no  chance  for  aught  save 
flight  ;  and,  for  a  few  moments,  she  made  desperate 
efforts  to  escape,  once  or  twice  barely  eluding  a  grimy, 
outstretched  hand. 

Notwithstanding  her  wonderfully  quick  movements, 
and  the  abrupt  turns  which  she  was  able  to  make  on  the 
smooth  ice  by  the  aid  of  her  staff,  they  were  gradually 
hemming  her  in  towards  the  bluff.  A  few  yards  to  the 
south,  and  near  the  land,  she  saw  a  small  air-hole  with 
open  water,  and  at  once  formed  the  desperate  purpose  to 
lead  her  pursuers  so  near  it  that  they  would  fall  in  ;  or 
else,  if  failing  in  that,  to  find,  herself,  a  refuge  in  death 
beneath  the  ice.  She  ran  to  its  perilous  edge,  and  then, 
by  means  of  her  staff,  turned  short  towards  the  shore. 
Her  nearest  pursuer  was  so  intent  on  grasping  his  victim, 
that  he  did  not  see  the  danger  in  time  and  fell  in. 

This  created  a  diversion  in  favor  of  Vera,  and  two  of 
her  pursuers  stopped  to  help  their  comrades,  but  the  re- 
maining three  were  adjured,  with  oaths  and  curses,  to 
"  head  her  off  up  agin  the  mountain." 

"  May  the  divil  fly  away  with  me  if  I  don't  believe  she 
is  a  witch,"  cried  one  of  the  ruffians. 

Vera  had  now  reached  a  place  where  there  was  a  break 
in  the  precipice  facing  the  river,  the  rock  making  a  sharp 


"THE  WHITE  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS1'  201 

angle,  and  receding  from  the  water  a  few  feet ;  and  then 
it  made  another  angle  and  trended  away  towards  the 
southwest,  leaving  an  increasingly  wide  margin  between 
the  precipitous  bluff  and  the  river.  Despairing  of  escape 
on  the  ice,  Vera  had  the  hope  that  by  springing  ashore 
she  could  make  her  way  along  this  margin,  and  so  up 
among  the  hills. 

But  the  tide  was  out,  and  huge  cakes  of  ice  were  piled 
among  the  rocks  where  she  attempted  to  reach  the  land  ; 
slipping  on  one  of  these,  she  fell,  and  was  delayed,  seem- 
ingly, a  fatal  moment.  Two  of  the  men  sprang  ashore 
south  of  her,  thus  cutting  off  escape  along  the  base  of  the 
cliffs,  while  one  stood  on  the  ice  behind  her. 

"  We've  got  her  now !  "  they  cried,  with  horrid  joy  ; 
"  she's  just  druv  into  a  corner  o'  the  rocks,  and  must  go 
through  'em  to  get  away." 

"  Two  on  ye  keep  her  there,  then,  and  t'other  come 
and  help  us  git  Barney  out.  I'm  afeerd  he'll  droon. 
The  cussed  ice  breaks  wid  us,  and  he's  gittin'  could  and 
numb-loike." 

Vera  gave  a  swift  glance  and  a  sobbing  prayer  to 
Heaven,  and  then  turned  towards  the  granite  rocks  that 
beetled  above  her  head,  to  see  if  there  \vas  the  faintest 
possibility  of  escape.  With  a  thrill  of  hope,  she  saw 
crevices  in  the  inner  angle  of  the  rock,  and  from  one  of 
these,  far  above  her  head,  a  bush  was  growing.  Here 
was  her  only  chance.  Availing  herself  of  the  moment's 
respite  given  by  her  pursuers  in  their  solicitude  for  their 
half-drowned  companion,  she  planted  her  long  staff  among 
the  loose  stones,  and,  by  its  aid,  steadied  herself  up  the 
almost  perpendicular  rock,  till  she  reached  the  bush.  It 
bore  her  weight,  and  seemed  like  a  helping  hand.  Fear 
lent  her  wings,  and,  by  the  aid  of  the  shrubbery,  she 
reached  a  point  not  quite  so  steep,  where  the  angle  in  the 
precipice  turned  off  towards  the  river  somewhat,  and  she 
was  able  to  climb  with  more  security  and  hope. 


202  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

All  this  had  transpired  in  a  moment  of  time,  while  the 
eyes  of  the  ruffians  had  been  turned  towards  the  one  of 
their  number  struggling  in  the  water.  Having  pulled 
him,  more  dead  than  alive,  out  upon  the  ice,  they  made 
a  rush  for  their  victim,  when,  to  their  unbounded  amaze- 
ment, they  saw  her,  far  above  their  heads,  ascending 
what  seemed,  from  their  point  of  view,  the  perpendicular 
face  of  the  rock.  For  a  moment  they  could  only  stare 
in  their  wonder.  Then  one  of  the  men  whipped  out  a 
pistol. 

"Don't  fire  !"  cried  another,  "for  if  the  divil  hain't 
carry  in'  her  up,  she'll  fall  ;  an'  if  he  is,  the  ball'll  come 
back  and  kill  yerself." 

Fortunately  this  sage  advice  was  taken,  and,  a  second 
later,  Vera  had  followed  the  angle  in  the  rocks  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  precipice,  and  was  at  least  fifty  feet  above  their 
heads.  From  this  point  the  ascent  was  easier  and  safer, 
although  still  very  difficult  and  dangerous.  As  every  mo- 
ment she  mounted  higher,  scaling  places  that  appeared 
impassable,  a  superstitious  dread  crept  over  them,  and 
they  slunk  off  with  muttered  curses  to  the  opposite  shore 
of  the  river,  leaving  the  basket  where  Vera  had  dropped 
it.  The  angels  that  had  charge  over  her,  lest  she  should 
dash  her  foot  against  a  stone,  were,  to  their  besotted 
minds,  evil  spirits,  though  certainly  less  malignant  than 
themselves. 

As  she  saw  them  depart,  she  sat  down  on  a  shelf  of  rock, 
panting  and  exhausted.  Night  was  near,  the  sky  over- 
cast, and  the  snow  whirling  through  the  air.  The  great 
mountain  of  "Cro'nest"  rose  between  her  and  the 
cabin,  while,  from  the  wide  rugged  valley  that  she  must 
cross,  came  the  roar  of  the  wind  in  the  forest.  She 
thought  not  of  these  dangers,  however,  in  her  unbounded 
gratitude  for  what  seemed  an  almost  miraculous  escape. 
There  on  the  bleak  mountainside  she  knelt,  and  poured 
out  her  heart  to  God.  In  answer,  there  came  to  her  a 


"  TEE  WHITE  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS"  203 

feeling  of  safety,  a  sense  of  being  guarded,  which  she 
never  had  before.  With  a  distinctness  which  made  them 
seem  as  if  spoken,  the  inspired  words  came  into  her  mind, 
"  Fear  not  thou,  for  I  am  with  thee  :  Be  not  dismayed  ; 
for  I  am  thy  God  :  I  will  strengthen  thee  ;  yea,  I  will 
help  thee  ;  yea,  I  will  uphold  thee  with  the  right  hand  of 
my  righteousness." 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  stretching  out  her  arms  towards 
heaven.  "Oh,  that  God  would  take  me  home  to  mother 
now !  Why  must  I  descend  into  this  dark  and  stormy 
valley  ? " 

Again  the  voice  whispered  in  the  depths  of  her  soul, 
"  The  Lord  is  thy  keeper  :  The  Lord  shall  preserve  thee 
from  all  evil:  he  shall  preserve  thy  soul."  "Let  not 
your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be  afraid." 

With  a  feeling  of  resignation  and  trust,  to  which  she 
had  long  been  a  stranger,  she  set  out  on  her  journey  of 
several  miles  through  a  rugged  and  unbroken  wilderness. 
Her  intimate  knowledge  of  the  mountains  enabled  her  to 
go  towards  her  home,  even  in  the  gathering  darkness, 
with  as  much  directness  as  the  almost  impassable  region 
permitted  ;  but  it  was  night  before  she  descended  the  hills 
that  sloped  towards  the  cabin.  She  began  to  think  that 
her  strength  would  fail,  and  that  after  all  she  might 
perish  ;  but,  in  her  weariness  and  loneliness,  the  thought 
brought  peace  instead  of  fear.  Mechanically  she  tottered 
on,  scarcely  conscious  from  exhaustion,  until  she  reached 
the  valley  where  stood  her  home.  Summoning  all  her 
failing  energies  she  tried  to  gain  its  door,  but  in  vain. 
The  utmost  limit  of  endurance  had  been  reached,  but,  as 
her  last  effort,  before  sinking  on  the  ground  in  uncon- 
sciousness she  cried, 

"  Father!  Gula!  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"  THE  BLACK  WITCH   OF   THE   HIGHLANDS  " 

VERA'S  absence  had  not  caused  much  anxiety  to  the 
inmates  of  the  cabin.  They  were  both  so  wrapped  up  in 
their  own  strange  fancies  that  they  could  think  of  little 
else,  and  it  was  not  unusual  for  her  to  return  from  hunt- 
ing expeditions  after  nightfall.  They  were  so  preoccu- 
pied that  neither  of  them  noticed  that  the  light  fowling- 
piece  was  in  its  accustomed  place. 

Throughout  the  entire  day,  Gula  imagined  she  had  been 
hearing  voices,  and  even  the  winter's  cold  did  not  pre- 
vent her  from  leaving  the  door  of  her  little  kitchen  open, 
that  they  might  be  more  distinct.  While  busy  in  prepar- 
ing as  good  a  supper  for  Vera  as  a  very  meagre  larder 
permitted,  she  would  often  go  to  the  door,  and  listen  in- 
tently, not  for  the  footsteps  of  the  young  girl,  but  for  the 
strange  echoes  that,  in  her  disordered  mind,  came  from 
her  tropical  home. 

And  she  was  thus  listening,  when  Vera's  cry  reached 
her.  In  great  excitement  she  said, 

"  Dare,  dare,  dat  a  voice  sure.  P'raps  I'se  gwine 
home  to-night.  I'se  a-coming,"  and  she  hobbled  down 
the  glen  as  fast  as  her  age  permitted,  till  her  feet  struck 
against  the  poor  girl's  unconscious  body.  Stooping  down, 
she  felt  of  the  unexpected  obstacle,  and  then,  in  a  shrill 
scream,  called, 

"  Mas'r  Brown,  come  quick  !  Missy  Vera  'pears  like 
she's  dead." 

The  father  hastened  to  the  spot,  and  between  them  they 
bore  her  into  the  cabin. 

"  Is  she  dead  ?  "  asked  the  man  in  a  husky  whisper. 


"THE  BLACK  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS"  205 

"  Dunno  ;  allers  been  afeard  she'd  git  home  afore  me. 
De  strong  stuff  in  dis  bottle  did  her  mudder  good  ;  I'll 
put  a  little  in  her  mouf,"  and  Gula  moistened  Vera's  lips 
with  the  remnant  of  the  brandy,  and  was  comforted  by 
seeing  the  spasmodic  effort  to  swallow. 

"  She  was  a' most  home,"  soliloquized  Gula  ;  "and  it's 
orful  cruel  in  me  to  bring  her  back  ;  but  I  couldn't  let 
her  go  afore  me." 

"  O  God  !  if  there  is  a  God  !  save  my  child !  "  cried 
the  father  in  agony.     "  What  have  I  become,  to  leave 
her  so  exposed  ? ' '  and  he  bent  over  her  in  remorseful  , 
terror. 

Slowly  Vera  revived  to  consciousness,  and  was  at  last 
able  to  give  them  a  smile  of  recognition. 

"Where  have  you  been?  What  has  happened?" 
asked  her  father  eagerly. 

She  shuddered,  shook  her  head,  and  said  faintly,  "  Not 
now.  I  can't  tell  you  now." 

At  Gula's  urgent  request,  she  took  a  little  food  and. 
some  more  of  the  brandy,  and  then  sank  into  a  deep 
sleep,  which  lasted  until  the  sun  was  shining  into  the 
casement.  On  awaking,  she  found  her  father  watching 
her  with  the  most  intense  anxiety.  In  the  hope  of  arous- 
ing him  from  his  morbid  condition,  she  told  him  the  truth, 
and  the  last  remnants  of  the  man  and  parent  flashed  up 
in  his  soul. 

His  face  became  ashen  in  its  hue,  and  again  he  ex- 
claimed in  agony,  "  Great  God  !  what  have  I  become  ?  " 

Then  he  seized  his  rifle,  and  started  for  the  scene  of 
Vera's  peril,  with  the  half-crazed  hope  of  finding  her 
assailants  still  there.  After  a  time  he  returned  with  Vera's 
basket,  and  commenced  restlessly  pacing  the  cabin  floor, 
muttering  deep  curses  on  the  caitiffs  who  were  beyond 
the  reach  of  his  vengeance. 

•'  Father,"  said  Vera  piteously,  "  won't  you  take  care 
Qf  as  ?  won't  you  be  your  old  self,  as  I  remember  you 


206  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

when  a  little  child  ?  It  may  be  long  before  I  am  able  to 
go  out  again,  and  I  ought  not  to  go  at  all." 

"I  will,  my  child,  I  will,"  he  replied.  "Would  to 
God  I  had  never  been  born  1  " 

"  O  father !  be  a  brave  man.  Do  as  Mr.  Saville  wished, 
and  all  will  yet  be  well." 

"  I  will,  my  child  ;  I  will  remove  you  and  Gula  to  a 
place  of  safety,  and  then  join  the  army." 

"  Act  now,  father,  act  at  once." 

"  I  will — soon." 

For  a  few  days  he  made  desperate  efforts  to  throw  off 
the  incubus  that  was  crushing  body  and  mind,  and  sup- 
plied the  household  with  abundance  of  game. 

After  a  few  days  of  perfect  rest,  Vera's  healthful  frame 
quite  recovered  from  its  terrible  strain ;  but  there  re- 
mained in  her  eyes  a  troubled,  frightened  expression. 
Her  mind  was  constantly  dwelling  on  the  strange  epithet 
that  the  ruffians  had  applied  to  her.  Why  did  they  call 
her  the  "  white  witch  of  the  Highlands  "  ?  and  what  did 
they  mean  by  this  term  ?  A  vague  sense  of  danger  op- 
pressed her,  and  a  fear  lest  their  seclusion  was  causing 
people  to  imagine  evil  concerning  them. 

This  surmise  was  not  long  in  being  verified,  for  spring 
had  scarcely  opened,  before  an  officer  with  a  squad  of 
men  marched  to  their  door  one  morning. 

"  I  wish  to  see  a  man  named  Brown,"  was  the  prompt 
request. 

Nerving  himself  for  an  ordeal  that  was  terrible,  her 
father  came  to  the  door,  and  said  haughtily, 

"  I  am  he." 

"  I  am  directed,  sir,  to  inform  you  that  you  are  sus- 
pected of  disloyalty  to  the  American  cause,  and  of  being 
in  the  employ  of  the  enemy.  As  there  are  no  definite 
charges  against  you,  and  as  Mr.  Saville  once  spoke  in  your 
favor,  you  are  not  to  be  arrested  on  this  occasion.  But 
your  presence  is  no  longer  desired  in  the  vicinity  of  the 


"THE  SLACK  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS"  207 

forts,  and  it  is  requested  that  you  leave  this  region  before 
the  campaign  opens.  If  after  two  weeks  you  are  here 
and  can  give  no  satisfactory  account  of  yourself,  you  will 
be  arrested  and  put  in  confinement." 

The  terrified  man  could  scarcely  retain  sufficient  com- 
posure to  bow  in  silent  acquiescence  ;  but,  as  the  officer 
was  turning  away,  Vera  exclaimed, 

"  Indeed,  sir,  we  are  loyal.  You  do  my  father  in- 
justice." 

"  Let  him  be  prompt  in  proving  it  then,"  was  the  stern 
response;  then  came  the  word  of  command,  "Right 
about  face  ;  march,"  and  they  were  gone. 

Vera  thought  that  she  recognized  among  the  soldiers 
the  malignant  face  of  the  wretch  who  had  narrowly 
escaped  drowning  in  his  reckless  pursuit  of  her  upon  the 
ice.  She  was  right.  At  first,  the  ruffians  had  kept 
quiet,  fearing  lest  Vera  should  report  their  conduct,  and 
they  be  severely  dealt  with.  But  the  man  in  question 
vowed  vengeance,  and  was  so  besotted  in  his  egotism 
and  depravity  as  to  feel  that  he  had  good  cause  to  punish 
one  who,  in  escaping  his  brutality,  had  involved  him  in 
great  peril. 

He  was  one  of  Captain  Molly's  satellites,  and  she  had 
soon  beguiled  from  him  the  story,  but  embellished  and 
changed  somewhat  to  suit  their  interests.  The  worst  of 
villains  do  not  like  to  portray  themselves  in  their  true 
colors. 

"  She  is  a  witch,  indade,"  concluded  the  irate  ruffian  ; 
"  for  nary  a  one  that  the  divil  didn't  help  could  have 
walked  right  up  straight  rocks.  But,  by  the  holy  poker, 
I'll  pay  her  off  for  that  drooning  she  guv  me." 

The  story  of  Vera's  scaling  the  precipice  spread  rapidly 
among  the  ignorant  and  superstitious  members  of  the 
garrison,  over  whom  Molly  ruled,  and  became  positive 
proof  that  the  innocent  maiden,  as  well  as  old  Gula,  was 
in  close  league  with  the  Evil  One. 


208  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Let  us  go  over  and  roast  them  out  some  day," 
was  a  proposal  often  made,  and  once  or  twice  in  danger 
of  being  carried  out ;  for  the  discipline  of  the  fort  was 
not  severe,  and  the  men  were  often  permitted  to  be 
absent. 

But  Molly  was  shrewd  enough  to  counsel  prudence. 
Larry  had  cautioned  her  that  Saville  was  the  "very  divil 
himself ' '  when  angry  ;  and  she  remembered  his  threat. 
Though  she  had  not  seen  or  heard  anything  of  him  for  a 
Ipng  time,  he  might  return.  Besides,  Molly,  although 
capable  of  any  amount  of  wicked  gossip,  had  too  much 
humanity  to  face  its  consequences.  She  liked  to  scatter 
firebrands  and  arrows  recklessly,  but  did  not  enjoy  seeing 
the  wounds  and  suffering  ;  and  there  was  woman  enough 
in  her  nature  to  shrink  from  the  deeds  of  cruelty  and 
violence  which  she  foresaw  would  occur,  did  the  vindictive 
Barney  lead  a  band  of  kindred  spirits  against  the  cabin. 
So  she  tried  to  satisfy  his  revenge  by  inducing  him  to 
throw  out  hints  that  "  Brown  was  a  Tory,  a-watchin'  the 
garrisons."  This  story  the  officers  took  up  promptly,  and 
Barney  was  asked  for  definite  proof.  But  Molly  had  told 
him  not  to  say  anything  with  certainty,  but  to  abound  in 
suspicions  ;  so  the  authorities  concluded  that,  as  there  had 
been  considerable  doubt  about  the  man,  they  would  com- 
pel him  either  to  join  the  service,  or  to  remove  from  a 
region  where,  if  he  were  so  inclined,  he  could  be  very 
useful  to  the  enemy.  Thus,  the  evil  consequences,  which 
even  the  dead  wife  had  foreseen,  occurred,  and  worse 
dangers  threatened. 

As  the  officer  departed  with  his  squad,  Vera  turned  to 
her  father  with  the  purpose  of  entreating  him  to  follow  at 
once,  and  enlist  in  the  army.  But,  after  one  glance,  all 
hope  died.  It  almost  appeared  as  if  he  were  shrinking 
and  shriveling  away.  He  tottered  back  to  his  dusky 
corner,  as  seemingly  scarce  able  to  walk.  In  a  trembling 
whisper,  he  said, 


"  THE  BLACK  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS"  20U 

"  Vera,  we  must  fly  at  once." 

"  Fly  where  ?  "  she  answered  desperately.  "  Are  w« 
birds,  that  we  can  take  wing  in  a  moment-  and  live< 
without  shelter?  O  God!  is  thy  mercy  clean  gone  fof, 
ever  ? " 

"There  isn't  any  God,"  said  her  father  with  sudder* 
and  vindictive  passion  ;  "  there  is  only  a  devil.  Witness 
my  wife's  grave  yonder  ;  witness  your  unmerited  suffer- 
ing ;  and,  chief  of  all,  witness  myself.  I  dare  not  live — I 
dare  not  die.  I  have  but  one  vile  impulse,  and  that  is  to 
hide  ;  and  hide  I  will,  where  no  human  eye  shall  see  me 
again.  I  know  of  a  wild  gorge  in  these  mountains  that  I 
believe  untrodden  by  any  foot  save  mine.  Before  your 
mother  died,  I  built  a  hut  there  for  a  refuge,  if  the  worst 
came  to  the  worst.  Last  fall  I  repaired  it,  and  made 
it  stronger.  No  one  knows  of  its  existence,  for  this  is 
the  first  that  I  have  spoken  of  it.  Come,  we  will  go  at 
once." 

Vera  sank  into  a  chair,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  As  he  saw  her  grief,  he  relented  some- 
what, and  said, 

"  Well,  we  will  not  go  till  to-morrow.  They  gave  us  a 
little  time." 

"  If  we  are  to  go,  let  us  go  at  once,"  said  Vera  de- 
spairingly. "  But  is  there  no  way  out  of  this  darkness,  no 
escape  from  this  terrible  isolation  which  is  destroying  us 
all?  I  fear  I  shall  go  mad  myself." 

"  No,'1  said  her  father,  with  the  gloom  of  the  most 
hopeless  fatalism  in  his  tone  and  manner;  "  there  is  no 
escape,  and  there  is  darkness  all  the  way  on  forevermore. 
You  are  in  the  grip  of  the  same  awful  destiny  as  myself. 
I  am  mad,  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  I  know  that  I  am.  I 
can  see  my  mad  self,  and  can  see  my  former  and  nobler 
self  when  I  was  sane,  and  all  day  and  all  night  I  sit  and 
compare  the  two.  I  expect  you  will  become  like  me,  for 
I  have  been  a  curse  to  myself  and  all  bound  to  me.  But 


210  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEAET 

I  will  go  where  I  can  never  see  another  soul,  and  the 
curse  will  die  out  with  us." 

"  But,  father,  have  you  no  pity  for  me  ?  " 

"  Pity  !  I  pity  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
Don't  I  know  that  we  are  both  in  hell?  I  shall  pity  you 
forever,  but  what  good  will  that  do  ?  " 

"Oh,  hush!"  said  Vera,  shuddering.  "Say  no 
more." 

Until  late  that  night,  she  prayed  and  questioned  God 
as  to  her  duty.  Would  it  not  be  better  to  go  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  garrison,  and,  throwing  herself  on  his 
mercy,  declare  that  her  father  was  no  longer  responsible 
for  his  actions?  And  yet  each  time  she  had  sought  to 
make  her  way  alone  out  into  the  world,  she  had  been  met 
by  experiences  that  caused  her  womanly  nature  to  shrink 
with  inexpressible  fear. 

"  Is  there  only  one  true,  kind  man  in  the  world  ?  "  she 
groaned  in  bitterness. 

At  last,  she  concluded  that  her  father,  in  his  present 
mood,  would  not  remain  near  the  dwellings  of  others  ; 
and  that,  if  she  tried  to  compel  him  to  do  so,  he  would 
wander  off  by  himself,  and  perish  in  the  forest.  She  also 
saw  the  difficulty  of  accounting  for  his  condition  of  mind, 
for,  as  he  said,  he  was  both  sane  and  insane.  It  would 
become  evident  to  all  that  his  gloom,  fear,  and  remorse 
had  their  dark  source  in  guilt  of  some  kind.  He  would 
not  explain  ;  she  could  not ;  and  thus  mystery  and  her 
twin  sister,  suspicion,  would  ever  follow  them  with  point- 
ing fingers,  till  even  she  might  be  glad  to  hide  in  the 
depths  of  the  mountains. 

She  recalled  her  mother's  words  in  regard  to  her 
father  :  ' '  You  will  have  to  be  his  guardian  and  protector 
more  truly  than  he  yours.  Be  very  tender  and  patient 
with  him  for  my  sake." 

"  I  will  go  with  him  to  his  mountain-gorge,"  concluded 
she,  "  although  it  is  the  same  as  being  buried  alive.  Mr. 


" THE  BLACK  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS"  211 

Saville  will  never  find  me  there,  and  I  have  now,  in  sad 
truth,  lost  my  only  friend." 

Again  a  comforting  and  reassuring  voice  spoke  in  the 
depths  of  her  soul,  "  Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord; 
trust  also  in  him,  and  he  shall  bring  it  to  pass." 

There  sprang  up  a  sudden  hopefulness  within  her 
heart,  that  God,  in  his  own  time  and  way,  would  break 
down  the  barriers  that  rose  between  them  and  their  own 
kind,  and  that  he  would  guide  Saville  to  their  hidden  re- 
treat. An  impression,  which  soon  became  a  conviction, 
that  it  would  be  best  and  safest  to  leave  all  to  him, 
brought  rest  to  her  mind,  and  she  slept  until  her  father 
summoned  her  in  the  morning. 

After  an  early  meal,  they  made  up  two  packages,  con- 
taining tools,  bedding,  some  food,  and  cooking  utensils, 
and  taking  their  guns,  started  for  the  secluded  hut, 
which,  after  all,  was  not  so  distant  as  it  was  inaccessible, 
and  apart  from  all  the  mountain  roads  and  paths.  It 
was  their  plan  to  spend  two  or  three  days  in  repairing 
and  putting  it  in  the  best  condition  possible,  before  re- 
moving thither  old  Gula  and  the  household  furniture. 

But,  in  their  absence,  the  elements  of  evil  were  at 
work,  and  poor,  pagan  Gula  had  another  experience 
with  Christians,  upon  whose  profane  lips  was  continually 
the  name  of  the  God  whom  she  had  learned  to  associate 
with  deeds  of  fiendish  cruelty. 

The  ruffian,  Barney,  had  accompanied  the  officer,  and 
heard  the  order  which  would  soon  make  the  little  cabin 
tenantless.  But  this  did  not  satisfy  his  malignant  spirit ; 
and  so,  one  afternoon,  when  heated  with  liquor,  he  pro- 
posed to  a  few  kindred  villains  that  they  should  go  and 
hurry  the  departure  of  the  witches.  By  reason  of  their 
superstitious  fears,  the  others  were  rather  reluctant ;  but 
he  stimulated  them  up  to  the  reckless  point  by  fiery  po- 
tations from  a  stolen  bottie  of  rum.  They  doubted  Cap- 
tain Molly's  acquiescence  in  their  action,  and  so  did* not 


212  NEAE  TO  NATURE'S  HEAET 

inform  her  ;  but,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  obtained  a 
brief  leave  of  absence  from  their  officers. 

It  was  quite  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they  reached 
the  vicinity  of  the  cabin.  They  approached  warily,  for 
Brown  had  the  reputation  of  being  savage  and  danger- 
ous. At  last  they  made  a  rush  for  the  two  doors,  having 
already  had  experience  of  Vera's  quickness  in  flight. 
But,  to  their  surprise,  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen.  They 
looked  cautiously  in  every  place  where  one  could  be  con- 
cealed in  the  main  room  and  kitchen,  with  their  weapons 
ready,  but  there  was  no  trace  of  their  victims.  Then 
Barney  and  two  others  of  the  most  reckless  of  the  gang 
went  up  the  covered  way  to  Vera's  little  room  ;  and 
beastly  satyrs  of  Grecian  myth,  in  the  grotto  of  a  nymph, 
could  not  have  appeared  more  hideous  and  devilish  than 
these  caitiffs  in  that  refuge  of  maidenly  purity  and  beauty. 
Again,  in  after  days,  with  a  gratitude  beyond  words, 
Vera  thanked  God  that  she  was  absent.  Her  filial  loyalty 
to  her  father  had  brought  unspeakable  reward. 

The  ruffians  were  now  convinced  that  the  occupants  of 
the  cabin  had  fled,  and  with  sacrilegious  hands  they  des- 
troyed, pillaged,  and  defaced,  till  their  attention  was 
diverted  by  a  loud  shout  from  one  of  their  number  who 
had  ascended  the  ladder  to  peer  into  the  little  loft. 
Here  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Gula,  cowering  in  the  re- 
motest corner,  and  was  now,  in  brutal  glee,  dragging  her 
down  to  his  companions,  who  with  oaths  and  impreca- 
tions gathered  around. 

The  aged  negress,  speechless  and  paralyzed  with  terror, 
was  as  limp  and  unresisting  in  their  hands  as  if  dead  ; 
turning,  as  the  only  evidence  of  life,  her  wild,  horror- 
dilated  eyes  from  one  to  another  of  her  persecutors,  who 
were  to  her  so  many  torturing  fiends. 

"  Where  is  the  other  she-divil  ?  where  is  the  white 
witch  o'  the  Highlands?  "  demanded  Barney.  "  Speak, 
or  we'll  make  ye  swallow  coals  o'  fire." 


"THE  BLACK  WITCH  OF  THE  HIGHLANDS11  213 

But  Gula's  unearthly  stare  was  his  only  answer. 

"Tie  her  to  the  tree  there,  or  the  divil  may  carry  her 
off  in  spite  o'  us  ;  "  and  they  hustled  the  poor  creature 
out,  and  did  his  bidding,  Gula  making  no  resistance, 
and  uttering  not  a  sound. 

"  Now  take  what  ye  want,  and  thin  set  fire  to  that 
divil's  nest  o'  witches,"  continued  Barney,  who,  by  com- 
mon consent,  was  leader  in  the  outrage. 

Gula's  eyes  dilated  with  increasing  terror,  as  she  saw 
the  cabin  speedily  wrapped  in  flames.  Then  the  demons 
gathered  round  her,  and  Barney  commenced, 

"  Now,  ye  ould  black  hag  o'  Satan,  tell  me  where  the 
white  witch  is  a-hidin',  or  I'll  roast  the  flesh  off  yer 
bones." 

But  Gula  only  turned  upon  him  her  horror-stricken 
stare. 

He  seized  a  firebrand,  and  held  it  scorchingly  near  her 
hand.  She  writhed,  but  would  not  speak. 

"  Here,  boys,  git  some  dhry  sticks,  and  put  'em  around 
her  feet.  Ye'll  see  how  blue  she'll  burn." 

"  Hold  on,  Barney,"  said  the  others  ;  "  don't  let  us  go 
too  far.  Her  looks'll  haunt  us  all  our  days  now." 

With  loud  curses  on  their  cowardice,  the  drunken 
wretch  began  to  carry  out  his  fiendish  cruelty  him- 
self. 

Gula  at  last  seemed  to  realize  that  she  might  be  near 
to  death,  which  to  her  meant  return  to  kindred  and  rude 
regality  in  her  far-away  home,  and  she  suddenly  broke 
the  silence,  thus  far  maintained,  by  a  weird,  shrill  cry  of 
ecstasy, 

"  De  voices,  de  voices!  I'se  hear  you  plain.  I'se 
a-comin'  now,  sure." 

The  ruffians  started  back  aghast. 

"  What  voices  ?  "  demanded  Barney. 

A  piercing  shriek  from  the  hill  west  of  them  was  the 
answer.  Then  the  report  of  a  rifle  rang  out,  and  Barney 


214  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

fell  dead  at  his  victim's  feet,  with  a  bullet  through  his 
cruel  heart. 

His  companions  turned  in  precipitate  flight,  but  an- 
other yelled  with  pain  as  the  contents  of  Vera's  gun 
reached  them. 

Marking  the  course  of  their  flight  with  blood,  they 
reached  their  boat  half  dead  from  fright  and  bruises,  and, 
crossing  to  the  garrison,  told  a  terrible  story  of  Tory  out- 
rage. A  strong  party  was  sent  over  immediately  to  arrest 
Brown  and  the  "  Tory  horde  "  that  was  declared  to  be 
with  him  ;  but  nothing  was  found  save  the  smoking 
embers  of  the  cabin,  and  the  dead  body  of  the  ruffian 
Barney,  which  was  brought  over  to  the  island  and 
buried. 

From  what  he  saw,  however,  the  officer  in  charge  of 
the  expedition  suspected  that  there  might  be  two  sides  to 
the  story,  as  Barney  and  his  companions  were  known  to 
belong  to  that  human  scum  which  always  exists  in  every 
army.  Beyond  some  effort  made  to  discover  whether 
Brown  still  frequented  his  old  haunts,  nothing  further  was 
done,  and  the  affair  was  soon  forgotten  in  the  excitement 
of  the  opening  campaign. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  DIRGE   ENDING  JOYOUSLY 

OUR  story  now  passes  over  an  interval  of  several 
months.  The  autumn  winds  of  early  September  were 
again  prophesying  of  winter  among  the  Highlands  ;  but 
only  in  plaintive  suggestion,  for  summer  yet  lingered  in 
their  mild  breath. 

As  the  sun  was  sinking  low  in  the  west,  on  a  certain 
afternoon,  a  form,  that  could  scarcely  be  recognized  as 
that  of  Vera,  were  it  not  for  the  old  wealth  of  golden 
hair — but  uncovered  now  by  the  jaunty  plumage  of  the 
snowy  heron — might  have  been  seen  stealing  through  the 
defiles  of  the  hills  towards  the  river.  A  painful  timidity 
characterized  her  movements,  and  she  seemed  to  fear  her 
own  shadow.  There  were  traces  of  suffering  and  almost 
famine  on  her  sunburned  face,  and  in  her  deep  blue  eyes 
an  expression  akin  to  that  of  some  helpless  animal  that 
had  been  hunted  almost  to  the  death.  Her  dress  was  in 
tatters,  and  would  not  much  longer  conceal  her  thin  form. 
Instead  of  shoes,  rudely  constructed  sandals  of  buckskin 
protected  her  feet.  Her  frame  appeared  shrunken  and 
somewhat  feeble,  and  yet,  as  if  impelled  by  a  powerful 
motive,  she  made  her  way  rapidly,  although  furtively, 
along  a  path  which  no  one  save  herself  could  follow. 

As  she  reached  the  vicinity  of  her  old  home,  her  ap- 
proach became  more  cautious  and  stealthy.  She  flitted, 
like  some  timid  creature  of  the  forest,  from  cover  to 
cover,  till  she  could  look  out  unperceived  on  the  little 
glen  made  dear  by  so  many  memories. 

The  first  object  that  her  eyes  dwelt  on  was  the  grave  of 
her  mother,  and  she  seemed  to  dread  lest,  among  the  sad 
changes  occurring,  it  might  also  have  disappeared.  But 


216  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

the  mound  was  untrampled,  and  the  flowers  she  had 
planted  near  were  still  growing.  As  the  glen  seemed  as 
lonely  as  her  own  life,  she  ventured  from  the  thicket  to 
the  shade  of  the  elm,  where  rose  the  grassy  mound.  A 
visit  to  this  grave  had  become  the  poor  child's  best 
earthly  solace,  and  the  nearest  approach  to  comforting 
companionship  within  her  reach.  There  was  no  one  in 
her  dreary  home  to  whom  she  could  speak  of  the  sorrows 
that  were  crushing  out  hope  and  life  ;  but  here  she  could 
imagine,  at  least,  that  her  mother  listened  to  her  as  in  the 
past. 

Becoming  satisfied  that  she  was  alone  in  the  sacred 
place,  her  furtive,  apprehensive  manner  passed  away, 
and  she  gave  herself  wholly  to  the  tender  memories 
naturally  inspired.  Leaning  her  head  on  the  grave,  as 
she  had  upon  her  mother's  bosom  when  a  child,  she 
spoke  of  past  scenes  in  tones  that  would  have  touched 
the  most  callous.  Her  sentences  were  fragmentary,  mere 
indices  of  passing  thoughts.  From  them  it  would  seem 
that  her  hope  of  meeting  Saville  again  had  almost  per- 
ished, but  that  her  recollection  of  his  kindness  was  of 
such  a  character  as  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  sacred 
memories  of  her  mother. 

At  last,  with  a  weary  sigh,  she  saw,  from  the  deepening 
shadows  in  the  glen,  that  night  must  be  near.  She 
clasped  the  cold  earth  of  the  mound  in  close  embrace. 
She  was  indeed  orphaned  and  alone,  when  the  pressure 
of  her  heart  against  a  grass-grown  grave  could  give  more 
comfort  than  aught  else. 

When  about  to  rise,  she  heard  footsteps,  and  she 
hastily  stole  into  the  thicket  from  which  she  had  first 
issued,  and  which  would  cover  her  flight  back  to  the 
hills.  But,  though  almost  fainting  with  alarm — such  had 
become  her  weakness  of  mind  and  body — a  faint  hope 
stayed  her  fleet  steps  till  she  could  obtain  one  glimpse  of 
the  intruder. 


A  DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY  217 

There  was  something  in  the  distant  outline  of  the  tall 
form  that  was  strangely  familiar.  But,  as  the  stranger's 
rapid  advance  revealed  his  face,  she  sank  upon  the 
ground  overwhelmed  with  her  feelings.  It  was,  indeed, 
the  friend  and  brother  whom  she  had  mourned  as  lost, 
and  he  was  apparently  as  unchanged  as  on  the  day  she 
last  saw  him.  Was  his  presence  actual,  or  was  it  merely 
a  vision  of  her  overwrought  and  morbid  mind  ?  She 
scarcely  dared  to  move  or  breathe,  and  feared  lest  the 
wild  throbbing  of  her  heart  would  break  the  illusion. 

And  yet  he  was  so  real,  he  could  not  be  a  phantom  ; 
his  step  was  not  ghost  like,  but  struck  the  ground  firmly. 

Now  she  saw  the  expression  of  his  face — the  per- 
plexity— the  alarm,  the  trouble,  and  distress  depicted 
there — as  the  desolation  of  the  glen  became  apparent. 
He  went  to  the  stone  step  that  had  led  to  the  threshold  of 
the  cabin,  and  peered  into  the  charred  ruins,  as  if  he 
dreaded  discovering  there  traces  of  its  inmates.  He  next 
ascended  hurriedly  to  the  place  where  Vera's  grotto-like 
apartment  had  been,  but  the  scrutiny  of  the  ashes  gave 
no  confirmation  of  the  fear  that  apparently  had  risen  in 
his  mind. 

He  took  off  his  hat,  and  passed  his  hand  across  his 
brow  and  eyes,  as  if  all  were  to  him  a  vision  which  he 
would  gladly  dispel.  He  looked  up  and  down  the  glen 
till  his  eye  rested  on  the  elm  under  which  was  the  grave, 
and  he  approached  it  rapidly,  as  if  hoping  to  find  there 
something  that  would  lead  to  the  discovery  of  those  he 
sought. 

"  She  must  be  living,"  he  said  aloud,  "for  here  are  the 
proofs  of  her  care  and  taste.  Indeed,  from  the  marks 
upon  the  grass,  I  should  think  that  some  one  had  been 
here  to-day." 

Again  he  looked  up  and  down  the  glen,  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  something  or  some  one  that  could  explain  the  mys- 
tery. The  poor  girl,  who  was  but  a  few  feet  away. 


218  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

seemed  under  a  strange  paralysis.  She  tried  to  speak, 
but,  as  if  dreaming  in  very  truth,  though  her  lips  moved, 
there  was  no  sound. 

But,  as  Saville  sat  down  upon  a  rock,  and,  taking  out 
his  flute,  commenced  playing  the  same  dirge  which  once 
before  had  summoned  her  to  him  and  kept  her  heart 
from  breaking,  the  stony  spell  that  bound  her  was 
broken.  Tears  rushed  to  her  eyes. 

"  '  I  know  a  bank,'  "  she  faltered  ;  then,  springing  from 
her  concealment,  she  knelt  at  his  feet,  as  one  might  do 
who  sought  deliverance  from  some  pressing  danger. 

"  Vera !  "  he  exclaimed,  raising  her  up.  "  My  friend, 
my  little  sister !  what  has  happened  ?  What  has  changed 
you  so  ?  " 

But,  for  some  moments,  her  tears  and  sobs  were  his 
only  answer.  He  gently  seated  her  on  a  rock  beside 
him,  and  held  her  hand,  while  stroking  her  head  in 
gentle  caresses,  accompanied  by  equally  tender  and 
soothing  words. 

"  My  poor  little  sister,  it  is  plain  that  much  has  hap- 
pened, and  that  you  have  suffered  deeply,  since  I  saw 
you  last." 

"  But  thank. God,  thank  God  !  you  are  not  dead — you 
have  not  forgotten  me,"  she  was  able  at  last  to  say 
brokenly. 

"  You  may  indeed  take  all  the  comfort  you  can  out  of 
these  facts,"  he  replied  cheeringly.  "  I  never  had  a  bet- 
ter prospect  of  living,  and  there  was  never  less  danger  of 
my  forgetting  you.  So  cease  your  trembling,  little  one, 
and  dry  your  tears.  I  am  again  stationed  at  Fort  Mont- 
gomery, and  can  see  you  often,  as  in  old  times.  Now 
tell  me  what  has  happened — no,  first  tell  me  where  you 
live,  for  it  is  almost  night,  and  we  can  talk  on  our  way 
thither." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Vera,  "  in  the  joy  of  seeing  you,  I 
have  forgotten  all  else.  The  wretched  little  hut,  which  I 


A  DIROE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY  319 

cannot  call  home,  is  miles  away.  You  can't  go  with  me 
there.  The  path  is  too  rough  and  tangled  for  aught  save 
a  mere  creature  of  the  forest,  as  I  have  become." 

Then,  for  the  first  time  conscious  of  her  tattered  and 
forlorn  dress,  and  her  bare  and  brier-torn  ankles,  she 
turned  away  with  a  burning  blush,  and  said,  in  a  low 
tone, 

"  I  am  glad  night  is  near,  that  its  darkness  may  cover 
me.  I  wonder  at  your  kindness,  for  I  looked  into  a  mir- 
roring pool  on  my  way  hither,  and  saw  my  poor,  miser- 
able self  as  you  now  see  me.  What  must  I  seem  to  you, 
who  have  seen  the  best  of  the  world  ?  " 

"  Vera,"  said  Saville  gravely,  "did  not  your  mother, 
when  living,  hope  that  I  might  become  your  friend  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Vera,  with  fast-falling  tears. 

"  That  hope  has  been  fulfilled  ;  but,  were  I  only  a 
casual  stranger,  what  else  could  I  feel  for  you,  in  this 
place,  and  by  this  grave,  but  the  deepest  sympathy  ? 
You  may  trust  me  then  without  fear  or  embarrassment, 
because  of  your  ragged  dress  and  bruised  feet,  which  are 
to  me  the  touching  proofs  of  your  misfortunes.  There 
are  no  stronger  claims  than  those  of  humanity,  and  un- 
consciously you  assert  these  in  a  way  to  make  them  most 
sacred.  I  feel  that  you  are  committed  to  my  charge, 
and  that  nature  and  all-controlling  destiny  constitute  me 
your  brother  and  guardian.  So,  rest  assured,  you  shall 
lean  upon  my  arm  all  the  way  to  your  mountain  hiding- 
place,  which,  I  fear,  is  little  better  than  the  nests  of  the 
birds,  which  are  open  to  the  sky." 

"  But  the  way  is  longer  than  you  think." 

"Will  it  seem  shorter  to  you  without  me?  All  the 
more  reason  for  my  going.  Come,  little  sister ;  I  have  a 
will  of  my  own,"  and  he  drew  her  hand  within  his  arm. 

"  I  can  take  the  more  open  paths,  now  that  you  are 
with  me,"  she  said,  with  sudden  gladness  in  her  tone. 

"  Yes,  any  you  like.     I  will  take  care  of  you." 


220  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

With  a  sigh  of  intense  relief,  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh } 
what  a  comfort  it  is  not  to  be  oppressed  with  fear  every 
moment.  Constant  dread  was  becoming  a  habit  of  my 
mind,  as  it  is  with  father.  There  are  such  cruel  and  ter- 
rible men  in  the  world  ;  and  we  are  so  helpless,  and  are 
the  objects  of  so  much  suspicion,  that  concealment  and 
flight  have  become  our  only  safety  ; "  and,  with  the  sim- 
plicity of  a  child,  she  told  him  of  her  own  and  Gula's  ex- 
perience, and  the  burning  of  the  cabin. 

"  When  we  saw  the  smoke,"  she  said,  "  we  thought  it 
had  caught  fire  by  accident,  and  we  ran,  in  the  hope  of 
saving  something.  But  Gula's  cry,  and  the  horrible 
men's  rough  voices,  soon  led  us  to  fear  the  worst.  I  was 
afraid,  at  first,  that  father  would  leave  old  Gula  to  her 
fate,  for  often  he  is  so  strangely  timid.  But,  for  a  few 
moments,  he  seemed  like  an  enraged  lion.  He  shot  the 
leading  villain,  and  then,  snatching  my  gun,  fired  again. 
Only  their  rapid  -flight  kept  him  from  attacking  them 
single-handed.  He  seemed  to  think  they  were  the  same 
ruffians  that  tried  to  catch  me  ;  and,  from  what  old  Gula 
said  afterwards,  I  am  sure  they  were.  Ever  since,  I 
have  lived  in  a  state  of  terror  lest  they  should  spring  out 
upon  me." 

Her  tragic  story  was  often  interrupted  by  Saville's  ex- 
clamations of  pity  and  anger ;  and  when  she  described 
her  peril  upon  the  ice,  and  in  climbing  the  precipice,  she 
felt  his  arm  tremble  beneath  her  hand. 

"You  shall  be  amply  revenged,"  he  said  in  a  deep 
tone,  as  she  concluded. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  cried  pleadingly;  "any  effort  to 
avenge  me  would  only  add  to  my  pain  and  fear.  Please 
make  these  dreadful  men  understand  that  father  is  loyal, 
and  that  Gula  and  I  are  not  witches.  How  came  they 
ever  to  imagine  such  a  thing  about  two  such  inoffensive 
creatures?  " 

"That's  the  cursed  quality  of  superstition,"  he  mut- 


A  DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY  221 

tered.     "The  less  reason  and  cause,  the  more  monstrous 
and  bigoted  the  belief." 

"  You  can  never  know  all  I  have  suffered  of  late,"  she 
said,  finding  much  comfort  in  his  strongly  manifested 
sympathy.  "  We  often  do  not  have  enough  to  eat,  and 
I  was  beginning  to  hope  I  should  die  before  winter  came. 
Father  is  more  gloomy  and  taciturn  than  ever,  and  I 
often  find  him  looking  at  me  with  a  strange  pity  and  al- 
most horror  in  his  eyes,  as  if  he  were  murdering  me  and 
could  not  help  it.  His  looks  haunt  me.  Old  Gula,  too, 
is  growing  more  strange,  and  mumbles  unceasingly  of 
her  unearthly  voices.  Still  I  could  endure  all  this,  were 
it  not  for  my  constant  and  unspeakable  fear  lest  those 
wicked  men  find  our  hiding-place,  or  spring  out  at  me 
when  I  am  away  alone  among  the  mountains.  When  I 
heard  your  step  this  evening,  I  came  near  flying,  without 
looking  back  (God  saved  me  from  that  at  least).  I  even 
wake  out  of  my  sleep,  and  imagine  I  hear  them  coming 
with  their  dreadful  oaths.  Are  you  sure  you  can  keep 
them  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Vera,  sure.  Poor  child !  I  did  not  dream  it 
possible  that  misfortune  and  wrong  could  so  single  you 
out." 

"What  you  say,"  she  continued,  in  an  awed,  fright- 
ened tone,  "leads  me  to  speak  of  the  worst  trouble  of  all. 
Mother's  Bible  was  burned  in  the  cabin,  as  was  nearly 
everything  else.  I  have  tried  to  remember  its  teachings, 
but  of  late  they  seemed  slipping  from  my  mind.  Indeed, 
I  appeared  sometimes  to  be  forgetting  everything.  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  dwindling  to  nothing  in  body  and  mind,  and 
a  great  fear  has  at  times  chilled  my  heart  lest  death 
should  be  just  becoming  nothing.  When  we  first  came 
to  our  hiding-place,  I  felt  that  it  was  very  doubtful 
whether  I  should  ever  see  you  or  any  one  else  again,  and 
I  gave  up  almost  all  hope  of  happiness  in  this  life.  But, 
while  the  world  was  so  dark,  the  door  of  heaven  seemed 


222  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

wide  open,  and  mother  standing  in  its  light,  waiting  for 
me.  For  a  long  time  this  beautiful  vision  was  ever  be- 
fore me,  and  I  felt  like  a  traveler  who  is  going  towards 
his  home-light.  But  at  last  the  open  door,  with  its 
streaming  rays,  began  to  recede,  and  mother's  form  to 
grow  dim  ;  and  now  they  have  gone  so  far  away  that 
they  seem  like  that  faint  star  just  above  yonder  moun- 
tain. What  does  it  mean  ?  Has  God  forgotten  me  ?  Is 
he  in  truth  taking  mother  far  away  into  heaven,  and  am 
I  becoming  so  much  like  the  poor,  timid  little  crea- 
tures of  the  woods,  that  I  shall  at  last  die  like  them,  and 
become  nothing?  I  wish  you  could  explain  it  all  to 
me." 

"  I  can,  my  poor  little  friend,  very  readily.  When 
one  has  been  long  under  the  influence  of  trouble  and 
solitude,  and  especially  when  there  has  been  a  lack  of 
nutritious  food,  the  mind  becomes  morbid,  and  full  of 
unnatural  fancies,  just  as  the  night  is  full  of  strange, 
monstrous  shadows,  which  all  disappear  when  the  sun 
rises.  The  sun  has  risen  for  you,  and  all  these  strange 
shadows  upon  your  mind  will  soon  pass  away." 

"  But  are  you  sure  that  God  never  forgets  any  of  his 
children,  though  they  are  weak  and  insignificant  ?  It  is 
this  fear  that  troubles  me  most." 

"Well,  Vera,  to  tell  you  a  truth,  which  you  would 
have  suspected  long  ago,  if  you  had  not  been  so  inno- 
cent, I  do  not  know  much  about  God.  I  think  you  had 
better  try  to  overcome  all  these  morbid  fancies,  of  which 
you  have  spoken,  in  a  new  and  hopeful  interest  in  your 
present  life.  I  promise  that  I  shall  never  forget  you,  and 
will  try  to  make  it  certain  that  you  shall  never  be  so  ex- 
posed to  misfortune  again." 

At  first,  Vera  gave  him  a  troubled,  startled  look,  and 
was  silent  for  some  moments.  Then  he  felt  her  hand 
tightening  in  its  grasp  upon  his  arm,  as  if  the  thought 
were  in  her  mind,  "  If  God  is  failing  me,  I  must  cling 


A  DIRGE  ENDING  JOYOUSLY  223 

the  closer  to  this  friend,  who  is  so  near  and  sympa- 
thetic." 

To  divert  her  mind,  he  told  her  of  his  experiences 
during  his  long  absence,  and  how  he  had  written  to  her, 
and  had  hoped  that  she  knew  about  his  life  elsewhere, 
while  he  remained  ignorant  of  hers.  He  explained  how 
very  uncertain  letters  were  to  arrive,  even  along  the 
regular  lines  of  travel.  And  yet  his  heart  reproached 
him  that  he  had,  in  some  degree,  forgotten  her  in  his 
manifold  duties  and  excitements,  and  that  he  had  not 
made  greater  effort  to  learn  of  her  welfare,  and  provide 
for  her  safety. 

They  at  last  reached  a  point  where  they  must  leave 
the  comparatively  open  path  for  one  that  was  narrow, 
precipitous,  and  often,  to  his  eye,  entirely  blocked  by 
rocks  and  tangled  undergrowth.  But  she  picked  out  a 
way  for  him,  where,  in  the  darkness,  none  appeared. 
Towards  the  last,  however,  her  movements  became  slow 
and  feeble. 

"  Let  us  rest  awhile,"  he  said  ;  "  you  are  becoming  too 
wearied  to  stand,  almost." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  it  is  more  than  weariness,  Mr. 
Saville.  I  have  scarcely  tasted  food  to-day  ;  and  the 
worst  of  it  is,  I  fear  that  we  shall  have  little,  if  anything, 
to  offer  you  in  the  way  of  supper.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
it  troubles  me." 

"And  are  you  forgetting  your  own  pangs  of  hunger 
and  consequent  weakness,  in  the  fear  that  you  may  not 
have  a  supper  for  one  who  dined  heartily  a  few  hours 
ago?  "  he  asked,  taking  her  hand. 

"  But  I  am  accustomed  to  being  hungry,  and  you  are 
not." 

"  My  poor  little  friend,  I  can  scarcely  realize  it  all.  If 
you  could  spread  a  banquet  before  me,  my  heart  would 
be  too  full  to  permit  me  to  think  of  eating  to-night." 
And  the  thought  passed  through  his  mind,  "  Can  this 


224  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

maiden  and  my  bigoted,  selfish  wife  belong  to  the  same 
world  and  race  ?  ' ' 

He  was  naturally  generous  and  sympathetic,  and  his 
heart  overflowed  with  pity  and  tenderness  for  the  lonely 
girl,  whose  thoughts  had  constantly  followed  him,  while 
he  had  partially  forgotten  her. 

He  now  insisted  on  her  pointing  out  the  way  ;  and 
going  before,  he  lifted  her  down  the  rocks  and  steep 
places. 

"It  is  so  strange  to  be  petted  and  taken  care  of,"  she 
said,  with  a  low  laugh,  "  that  it  must  be  all  a  dream." 

"Thanks  for  that  laugh,"  he  cried  ;  "it  is  the  first  I 
have  heard  from  you,  but  I  shall  be  much  mistaken  if  it 
is  the  last.  If  I  can  carry  out  my  will,  this  is  your  last 
dark,  miserable  day." 

"  This  day  is  no  longer  dark  and  miserable,"  she  said 
promptly. 

.  "  How  is  that?  "  he  asked.  "  It  is  night,  and  you  are 
both  hungry  and  weary." 

"  But  comforted  and  happy,"  she  added.  "The  only 
ache  that  I  cannot  endure  is  the  heart-ache,  and  your 
coming  has  cured  that." 

Having  at  last  descended  into  the  wild,  secluded  val- 
ley, they  were  not  long  in  reaching  what  Vera  had  called 
with  truth  "  a  wretched  little  hut." 


CHAPTER  XX 

GULA  HEARS  A  VERITABLE  VOICE 

WHEN  Vera  told  Saville  that  they  were  near  the  little 
cabin,  he  asked  why  no  light  appeared.  t 

"  We  live  literally  in  darkness  much  of  the  time," 
she  replied ;  "for  father  will  not  permit  a  light,  lest  its 
rays  reveal  our  hiding-place  ;  and  I  have  been  so  timid, 
also,  that  I  was  well  content  to  submit.  Please  wait 
here,  and  I  will  prepare  father  for  the  meeting." 

"Is  it  possible,"  he  thought,  scanning  the  place  by 
the  light  of  the  rising  moon,  "that  this  poor  little  hovel 
has  been  her  only  shelter  for  long  months  ?  Even  our 
soldiers'  huts  are  better  than  this." 

Vera  noiselessly  raised  the  latch,  saying,  at  the  same 
time,  in  a  quiet  tone,  "It  is  I,  father." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  have  returned,  for  I  was  begin- 
ning to  surmise  horrible  things.  What  has  kept  you?  " 

"I   met  an  old  friend." 

"  Met  an  old  friend  !     Who  ?  " 

"  Your  friend  as  truly  as  mine.  Can  you  not  think 
who  he  is  ?  " 

"  Has  Mr.  Saville  returned,  and  is  he  indeed  friendly  ?  " 
he  asked  eagerly. 

"He  is  more  friendly  than  ever  ;  he  shall  speak  for 
himself.  Mr.  Saville  !  ' ' 

"  O  Vera  !  you  have  not  brought  him  to  this,  our  only 
refuge?"  cried  her  father  in  great  agitation.  "I  fear 
evil  will  come  of  it." 

"  No,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Saville,  cordially  taking  his 
hand  ;  "  good  and  only  good  shall  come  of  it.  I  am 


228  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

here  as  a  friend  to  you  both.  Besides,  I  bring  you 
cheering  tidings,  sir.  We  are  making  good  our  Declara- 
tion of  Independence,  which  you  heard  over  a  year  ago, 
and  have  now  excellent  prospects  of  final  victory." 

The  fear-haunted  man  drew  a  long  breath,  and  then 
said,  "The  deed  has  now  been  done,  and,  since  you  are 
here,  we  will  treat  you  with  the  best  courtesy  we  can  ; 
but  I  had  hoped  no  living  soul  would  ever  discover  this 
retreat." 

"  God  has  in  mercy  willed  it  otherwise,  father." 

"  God  forsooth  !  "  he  responded  bitterly.  "  If  I  could 
hide  forever  from  him,  I  might  hope  for  a  little  respite." 

"We  have  not  a  chair  to  offer  you,"'  he  continued, 
turning  to  Saville.  "  Will  you  accept  of  this  rude 
bench  ? " 

"  I  shall  be  most  content  in  faring  as  you  do,"  an- 
swered Saville,  in  the  frank,  cordial  manner  which 
always  gives  confidence.  "  And  now,  I  pray  you,  sir, 
sit  down  with  me,  while  I  tell  you  of  the  progress  of  the 
war.  Ve-ra  has  related  enough  of  your  experience  to 
fill  me  with  the  deepest  sympathy  for  your  misfortunes. 
At  the  same  time,  I  clearly  foresee  brighter  days  in  store 
for  you  both." 

Before  the  exile  was  aware,  Saville  held  him  com- 
pletely absorbed  by  his  graphic  descriptions  of  the 
battles  that  had  occurred  during  his  long  absence.  Vera, 
in  the  meantime,  disappeared,  and  nothing  was  seen  of 
old  Gula. 

At  last  the  door  of  the  hut  was  opened  from  without, 
and  Vera  called,  "  Come,  Mr.  Saville,  to  my  banquet." 

"  Banquet  !  "  he  said,  laughing.  "  If  you  and  Gula 
have  prepared  a  banquet  to-night,  I  shall  be  ready,  also, 
to  believe  you  are  witches,  or  good  fairies,  rather." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad!"  she  exclaimed.  "Everything 
has  turned  out  better  than  I  expected.  Father,  come 
with  us." 


OULA  HEARS  A   VERITABLE  VOICE         227 

To  her  surprise  and  joy,  he  who  had  seemed  hope- 
fessly  beyond  even  the  desire  of  seeing  or  speaking  to  a 
fellow  creature  again,  rose  hesitatingly,  and  followed 
them. 

Taking  Saville's  hand,  with  the  freedom  of  a  child, 
she  led  him  to  a  grassy  plot  behind  the  cabin,  where,  in 
the  moonlight,  stood  a  rude  table. 

"I  much  feared,"  she  said,  "that  we  should  have 
nothing  to  offer  you  to-night.  As  I  told  you  once  before, 
we  are  fed  as  the  ravens  are.  I  do  not  know  whether 
they  ever  go  supperless  to  bed,  but  we  do  sometimes. 
To-night,  however,  in  honor  of  your  coming,  two  young 
partridges  considerately  put  their  heads  into  my  snares, 
and  there  they  are  awaiting  you." 

"  Have  you  been  out  in  the  forest  after  them  since 
your  return  ?"  asked  Saville,  still  retaining  her  hand. 

"Yes,  but  it  wasn't  very  far." 

"  And  have  you  not  had  anything  to  eat  yet?  " 

"  I  eat  before  my  guest?  " 

"  Yes,  or  your  guest  will  be  most  pained  and  unhappy. 
See,  your  hand  trembles  from  weakness  ;  your  pulse  is 
rapid,  yet  feeble,  \vhile  mine  is  strong  and  even  from 
generous  living.  Can  you  think  that  I,  who  dined 
heartily  but  a  few  hours  since,  would  take  the  smallest 
part  of  those  dainty  morsels  which  you  need  to  keep  soul 
and  body  together?  Do  you  and  your  father  sit 
down  upon  this  mossy  rock,  while  I  carve  the  birds, 
and  help  you,"  and  he  almost  compelled  them  to  do 
his  bidding.  Then  lifting  the  light  table,  he  placed  it 
before  them  so  that  they  could  not  well  rise. 

"Now  you  are  my  prisoners,"  he  continued;  "and 
only  on  the  condition  of  your  making  a  good  supper, 
•shall  I  permit  you  to  escape." 

"  Hungry  as  I  am,  I  cannot  eat,  unless  you  share  the 
birds  with  us,"  persisted  Vera,  leaving  the  choice  bits 
before  her  untasted. 


228  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  queer  little  sister?  If  any 
pain  were  to  be  borne,  you  would  want  it  all,  I  warrant 
you.  Well,  I'll  take  awing." 

"  No,  that  may  portend  your  sudden  absence  again." 

"  Where  is  Gula?  "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"  I'se  here,"  said  the  old  negress,  stepping  from  the 
deep  shadow  of  a  rock. 

"  And  right  glad  I  am  that  you  are  still  here,"  said 
Saville,  cordially.  "  I  have  heard  how  badly  you  were 
treated,  but  I  am  going  to  take  care  of  you  all  now." 

"  Mas'r  Brown  fired  little  too  quick,  or  I'd  been  home 
now.  I  would  like  to  git  home  afore  de  cold  wintef 
come.  Tink  I  will,  for  de  voices  is  callin'  po'ful  strong 
lately." 

"  But  our  voices  will  call  on  you  more  strongly  to  stay 
with  us  ;  besides,  I  am  going  to  bring  a  lively  young 
colored  boy  to  help  you,  when  I  come  again.  Vera," 
he  said  in  a  low  tone,  turning  to  the  young  girl,  "  be  so 
kind  as  to  let  me  give  my  portion  to  this  poor  old  crea- 
ture. When  I  come  again,  I  will,  in  truth,  be  your  sub- 
missive guest." 

"Well,"  said  Vera  laughing,"  I  do  not  know  much 
about  the  world  ;  but  I  imagine  that  men  always  have 
their  own  way  in  it." 

"  You  have  indeed  forgotten  your  Shakespeare  if  you 
think  that.  But  I  am  much  interested  in  your  gypsy 
life.  Where  were  these  birds  cooked  so  nicely?" 

"We  has  a  stone  fireplace  in  de  side  ob  de  hill," 
said  Gula,  with  a  courtesy. 

"  Father  has  arranged  it  so  that  the  smoke  is  carried 
off  among  the  rocks,  and  in  such  a  way  that  it  cannot 
be  seen  by  any  one  on  the  hills  around  us,"  added 
Vera  ;  "  and  the  cabin,  you  perceive,  is  quite  hidden  by 
evergreens." 

It  was,  indeed,  even  from  them,  who  were  but  a 
few  feet  away. 


GULA  HEARS  A  VERITABLE  VOICE         229 

"  All  this  may  answer  in  summer,  but  not  in  winter," 
said  the  young  man  decidedly. 

"  I  doubt  whether  we  could  have  survived  the 
winter,"  Vera  replied  in  a  low  tone. 

"  How  quietly  you  speak  those  darkly  suggestive 
words !  " 

"  It  was  my  best  hope,  till  you  came." 

"  Thank  fortune,  my  coming  was  not  delayed." 

"  I  thank  God,"  added  Vera  reverently. 

"  Don't  mention  that  name,"  said  her  father  irritably. 
"  I  have  always  heard  it  oftenest  when  my  troubles 
thickened."  Then  to  Saville,  "  You  spoke  of  bringing 
your  colored  servant.  I  fear  it  will  not  be  safe,  sir." 

"  I  will  give  you  my  personal  pledge  that  it  is  ;  and 
when  you  come  to  know  the  boy,  you  will  fear  no  harm 
from  him.  So  I  trust  you  will  leave  all  to  me,  for  I  can 
provide  for  your  safety  more  surely  than  you  can 
yourself. 

Mr.  Brown  acquiesced  so  far  as  to  be  silent. 

Saville  had  seen  much  of  the  world,  but  the  picture 
made  by  that  wild  mountain-gorge  and  the  little  group 
before  hinV  left  an  ineffaceable  impression  upon  his 
memory.  Rugged,  rocky  steeps  rose  on  either  side,  one 
shimmering  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  other  lying  in  the 
deepest  shadow.  Glades  and  vistas  opened  here  and 
there,  with  strange  effect,  among  the  giant  trees  of  the 
valley.  The  closely  ranked  cedars  and  hemlocks  con- 
cealed every  vestige  of  the  little  log  hut,  and  the  inmates, 
as  they  then  appeared,  were  so  unlike  ordinary  people, 
that  he  felt  that  they  and  the  whole  scene  were  more  like 
a  creation  of  the  fancy  than  a  part  of  the  real  world. 
But  to  him,  who  was  weary  of  the  platitudes  and  hollow- 
ness  of  conventional  life,  the  picture  had  an  unspeakable 
attraction. 

Old  Gula  stood  a  little  back  from  her  master  and  mis- 
tress, leaning  her  tall,  gaunt  form,  that  was  feeble  from 


230  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

age  and  lack  of  food,  against  one  of  the  granite  boulders 
that  were  scattered  thickly  at  the  base  of  the  mountain. 
Her  wrinkled  features  formed  as  elfish  and  unearthly  a 
visage  as  could  well  be  imagined. 

The  unbroken  rays  of  the  moon,  as  they  shone  full  on 
Vera's  father,  only  made  more  evident  what  a  wreck  he 
had  become.  His  face  was  haggard,  his  hair  unkempt, 
and  his  grizzled  beard  had  grown  to  enormous  propor- 
tions. At  times,  when  Saville  was  speaking  to  him,  he 
had  almost  the  bearing  of  a  finished  gentleman  ;  a  little 
later,  he  wore  the  look  of  a  frightened  animal,  furtively 
devouring  its  food. 

Although  Saville,  with  almost  the  appreciation  of  an 
artist,  marked  the  other  features  and  accessories  of  the 
picture,  his  eyes  constantly  reverted  to  Vera  with  increas- 
ing interest.  Having  finished  the  repast,  which,  after 
all,  was  very  meagre,  she  leaned  her  head  upon  her 
hand,  and  listened  with  such  a  wistful,  intent  expression 
in  her  face,  that  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  dwell  merely 
on  the  details  of  a  past  campaign.  He  wished  to  com- 
fort and  reassure  her. 

He  now  had  opportunity  to  note  the  changes  that  had 
taken  place  in  her  appearance,  and  saw,  with  boding 
anxiety,  how  frail  and  thin  she  was.  Her  sun-browned 
face  was  very  pale  in  the  moonlight,  and  more  suggestive 
of  spirit  than  of  flesh  and  blood.  To  his  kindled  fancy, 
her  wealth  of  unconfined  hair  grew  into  a  halo,  and  the 
pure,  beautiful  face  beneath  resembled  portraits  of  saints 
that  he  had  seen  in  picture  galleries  abroad,  and  he 
thought, 

"  If  the  world  would  only  worship  such  saints — lovely, 
unselfish,  and  living  women — there  would  be  more  hope 
for  humanity." 

But  the  night  was  passing,  and  he  rose  to  depart. 

"You  will  not  think  of  returning  before  the  break  of 
day?  "  remonstrated  Vera. 


231 

"  Yes ;  I  have  lingered  too  long  already  ;  I  must  be  at 
my  post  in  the  morning,  and  I  have  much  to  do  during 
the  day.  I  shall  return  to-morrow  evening  about  the 
same  hour  I  came  to-night.  And  now,  sir,  I  shall  ask 
your  kindness  to  guide  me  back  to  the  open  path." 

"  I  can  lead  you  by  a  much  nearer  way  to  Fort  Mont- 
gomery," said  Mr.  Brown,  rising  promptly  ;  "and  to- 
night I  feel  like  taking  the  walk." 

"  I  will  not  say  good-bye,"  said  Vera,  in  parting,  "  lest 
it  be  followed  by  another  long  and  dreary  absence." 

Her  father  guided  their  guest  for  several  miles,  and 
left  him  only  when,  the  path  became  so  plain  as  to  be 
easily  followed.  Saville  was  greatly  pleased  that  his 
visit  had  so  aroused  the  unhappy  man,  and,  during  their 
walk,  continued  to  do  his  best  to  kindle  in  his  mind  a 
healthful  interest  in  the  outer  world.  He  even  obtained 
from  him  a  promise  that  he  would  come  with  Vera,  at 
sunset  the  following  evening,  to  the  place  where  they 
parted. 

During  the  remainder  of  his  walk  to  the  fort,  Saville's 
mind  was  very  active  in  trying  to  solve  the  problems  pre- 
sented by  the  peculiar  character  and  situation  of  the 
family.  It  was  clearly  his  first  duty  to  supply  them  with 
food  and  clothing.  He  also  resolved,  at  the  earliest  op- 
portunity, to  assure  the  military  authorities  of  Mr.  Brown's 
loyalty  to  the  American  cause,  and  thus  preserve  the 
family  from  further  molestation,  because  suspected  of  be- 
ing Tories.  He  also  determined  that  if  Larry  and  his 
wife,  Molly,  had  aught  to  do  with  the  outrages  that  had 
been  committed  against  the  family,  he  would  make  them 
suffer  to  the  extent  of  his  ability.  Vera,  fearing  that  it 
might  lead  to  a  bloody  quarrel,  had  not  told  him  of  the 
insult  received  at  Fort  Constitution,  when  she  crossed 
thither  to  learn  what  had  become  of  him. 

Early  the  following  morning,  he  sought  an  interview 
with  James  Clinton,  who  now  commanded  the  forts,  and 


232  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

who,  several  months  previous,  had  been  promoted  to  the 
rank  of  General.  Saville,  also,  on  the  ground  of  merit, 
had  recently  been  commissioned  captain  in  the  engineer 
department. 

It  was  impossible  for  the  young  man  to  be  a  cool  advo- 
cate, or  to  be  satisfied  with  half-way  measures,  and  he 
soon  quite  enlisted  General  Clinton's  sympathies  in  be- 
half of  his  proteges.  His  request  for  a  brief  leave  of  ab- 
sence was  readily  granted,  and  full  protection  for  the 
family  promised. 

His  next  step  was  to  secure  a  boat  in  which  to  visit 
Peekskill,  that  he  might  obtain  the  articles  of  apparel  and 
comfort  which  both  Vera  and  her  father  greatly  needed  ; 
and  therefore  he  summoned  the  colored  servant  whom 
he  had  lately  taken  into  his  employ,  and  who  thus  far 
had  proved  a  bundle  of  contradictions,  a  human  riddle, 
that  his  master  had  been  unable  to  solve. 

He  was  a  genuine  African  in  features  and  manner,  and 
of  that  uncertain  age  which  made  it  doubtful  whether  he 
was  man  or  boy.  He  had  presented  himself  at  Saville' s 
tent  on  the  morning  after  his  arrival,  asking  for  service. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  "  Saville  asked. 

"  From  nowhar  in  "ticklar,"  was  the  indefinite  re- 
sponse. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Mas'r  kin  call  me  what  he  likes." 

"  Haven't  you  any  name  ?" 

"  I'se  had  a  sight  o'  names  ;  jes'  as  liv  hab  annoder. 
I'll  answer  quicker'n  lightnin'  to  any  name  you  gub  me, 
if  you'seony  take  me." 

"  Well,  who  are  you,  anyway  ?  " 

"  I  doesn't  jes'  know." 

"  What  are  you  doing  in  this  region?  " 

"  I'se  a-lookin'  for  somebody." 

"  And  somebody  is  looking  for  you,  I  imagine.  You 
have  run  away.  Where  is  your  master  ?  " 


GULA  HEARS  A   VERITABLE  VOICE         233 

"  Dar  he  is,  I'se  a-hopin',"  said  this  most  indefinite  of 
human  atoms,  at  the  same  time  ducking  his  head  towards 
Saville.  "  Jes'  guv  me  a  chance,  and  you'se  '11  see  I 
knows  a  heap  more  'bout  some  oder  tings  dan  I  does 
'bout  myself." 

"Very  well,"  said  Saville  carelessly.  "I  will  keep 
you  till  you  are  claimed,  or  till  I  find  you  will  not  answer 
any  purpose." 

At  this,  the  boy  had  ducked  again,  and  pulled  a  little 
•horn  of  wool  that  he  had  seemingly  coaxed  over  his  fore- 
head for  polite  or  politic  uses. 

"  Now,  if  mas'r  '11  jes'  guv  me  a  handle,  I'se  '11  begin 
to  be  use'l  right  straight." 

"  '  A  handle  !  '  ' 

"  Yeh,  sumpen  to  call  and  send  me  by." 

"  Oh  !  a  name.  Any  one  of  your  old  ones  will  an- 
swer. '' 

"  If  mas'r  please,  I'd  rudder  he  guv  me  a  new  un." 

"  Bless  me  !  I  don't  know  what  to  call  you,  unless  I 
.take  the  mathematician's  terms  for  an  unknown  quantity, 
and  name  you  X  Y  Z." 

"  Dat'll  suit  kerzackly,"  was  the  delighted  response. 
"'Ekswyze.'  I  neber  had  as  big  a  name  as  dat 
.afore." 

"  But  I  shall  call  you  X  for  short,"  said  Saville,  laugh- 
ing. "  Now  let  me  see  what  you  can  do." 

The  boy,  even  in  a  few  hours,  proved  his  ability  to 
serve  well,  if  he  so  chose,  and  now  was  on  hand,  ready 
to  do  his  master's  bidding  with  alacrity. 

"  Find  me  a  small  sailboat,  that  can  be  rowed  if  the 
wind  is  contrary,  and  be  ready  to  go  with  me  to  Peeks- 
kill  in  half  an  hour." 

Within  less  time,  the  boy  reported  that  all  was  ready, 
and  a  favorable  breeze  soon  enabled  them  to  reach  the 
store  of  Daniel  Birdsall.  From  his  meagre  stock,  Saville 
made  the  best  selection  he  could,  half  smiling,  half  frown- 


234  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

ing  over  the  coarse  material  and  stout  shoes  he  was  com- 
pelled to  buy  for  Vera's  wear. 

"  They  will  at  least  keep  her  warm,"  he  thought,  "and 
I  have  no  fears  but  that,  by  some  form  of  woman's  magic, 
she  will  conjure  this  dark  stuff  into  a  tasteful  dress.  Per- 
haps I  may  do  better  another  time  in  the  stores  up  the 
river. ' ' 

He  also  purchased  an  abundance  of  ammunition,  and 
such  provisions  as  the  place  furnished.  Making  all  into 
two  stout  bundles,  he  returned,  landing  considerably 
above  the  fort,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  be  followed  by 
curkms  eyes. 

"  Now,  X,  take  the  boat  back,  and  return  as  soon  as 
possible.  If  any  inquire  where  I  am,  say  that  I  am  shoot- 
ing among  the  hills." 

X  speedily  rejoined  his  master,  at  whose  bidding  he 
took  up  the  heavier  bundle,  and  followed  without  a  jot  of 
interest,  apparently,  as  to  their  destination. 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  sense  enough  to  hold  your 
tongue,"  said  Saville.  "  For  a  time,  you  may  be  able  to 
serve  me  best  by  serving  others.  I  have  friends  back  in 
the  mountains,  with  whom  I  may  leave  you  ;  and  if  there 
is  anything  about  them  that  seems  strange,  think  what 
you  please,  but  never  speak  of  what  you  see  and  hear  to 
any  one.  If  you  do,  I  have  the  means  of  making  you 
wish  you  had  bitten  your  tongue  off  first." 

"Mas'r  Saville'll  find  out  by  and  by  dat  I'se  po'ful 
good  at  knowin'  nuffin  dat's  nobody's  business." 

"  Yes,"  laughed  Saville  ;  "  you  have  given  me  a  proof 
of  that  already.  I  think  you  may  be  just  the  boy  I 
want.1" 

The  sun  appeared  like  a  great  beacon-fire  on  the  sum- 
mit of  a  western  mountain,  as  they  reached  the  place 
where  Mr.  Brown  had  promised  to  meet  them  with  Vera  ; 
but  there  was  not  a  trace  of  their  presence.  *  "> 

"  They  have  not  arrived  yet,"  thought  Saville,  "  but  it 


GULA  HEARS  A   VERITABLE  VOICE         235 

is  time  they  were  near.     I  will  give  our  old  signal,  and 
Vera  may  answer  ;  "  and  he  played  the  familiar  air. 

Almost  immediately  a  powerful  yet  bird-like  voice  an- 
swered, from  a  neighboring  thicket, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

"Gosh!  what's  dat?"  said  X,  starting  up  in  great 
alarm. 

"  That  is  your  future  mistress,  X  ;  don't  run  away  till 
you  see  her." 

As  Vera  stepped  forth  with  her  father,  her  strange  ap- 
pearance and  remarkable  beauty  so  impressed  poor  X 
that  he  muttered, 

"  I  knowed  any  critter  wid  a  voice  like  dat  mus'  be  a 
speret  from  one  place  or  t'oder.  Tink  she  ain't  from 
t'oder,  dough  ;  for  dat  ar  singin'  was  hebbenly,  sure  'nuff. 
But  I  doesn't  like  de  looks  ob  de  ole  man." 

X  soon  gained  his  stolid  composure,  however,  and  was 
able  to  pull  his  little  woolly  horn  with  his  wonted  noncha- 
lance, when  introduced  with  his  big  bundle. 

Saville  greeted  his  friends  with  the  utmost  cordiality, 
and  sought  by  his  manner  to  banish  their  timidity.  Hope 
and  happiness  had  already  wrought  a  marvelous  change 
in  Vera,  and  Saville,  as  of  old,  found  himself  wondering 
at  her  beauty. 

"What  have  you  here?"  she  asked,  with  childlike 
curiosity  and  vivacity. 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  this  is  X  Y  Z.  If  you  can 
find  out  any  more  about  him,  you  will  accomplish  more 
than  I  have  done.  As  for  these  bundles,  we  will  open 
them  at  the  cabin.  If  you  will  spread  a  banquet  for  me 
again  to-night,  you  will  find  that  I  shall  need  no  urging 
to  partake  of  it." 

"  I  have  nothing  better  than  a  few  more  birds,"  said 
Vera  ruefully. 


236  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"What  could  be  better,  my  quaint  Ariel?  Come, 
moonlight  will  not  satisfy  me  to-night." 

The  moon  was  just  rising  when  they  reached  the  cabin. 
X  sat  down  with  his  bundle  where  he  was  bidden,  and, 
wearied  with  the  fatigue  of  the  day,  was  inclined  to  go 
immediately  to  sleep,  when  a  name,  uttered  by  Saville, 
aroused  him  thoroughly. 

"Gula,"  Saville  had  called,  "come  and  see  what  I 
have  brought  you." 

•'  Gula  !  "  repeated  X.  "  What  Gula  is  dis  ?  "  and  he 
strained  his  eyes  towards  the  dark  recess  among  the  rocks 
where  glowed  a  few  live  coals.  After  a  moment,  he 
could  endure  his  suspense  no  longer,  and  said, 

"  Mas'r  Saville,  shall  I  bring  de  tings  dar  ?  " 

"  What  voice  is  dat  ?  "  cried  Gula  in  her  shrillest  and 
most  excited  tones.  And  she  rushed  to  the  spot  where 
X  was  standing  in  trembling  expectancy. 

"Who  is  you?  What  is  your  name?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"  De  name  Mas'r  Saville  guv  me  is  Ekswyze,"  said  X 
mechanically. 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  "  cried  Gula,  more  shrill  and  excited 
than  ever.  "What  name  did  you'se  mudder  gib  you 
when  you'se  was  a  little  chile  ?  " 

"  Tascar." 

With  a  wild  cry  Gula  threw  her  arms  around  the  boy, 
exclaiming,  "  I'se  your  mudder  !  I'se  called  you  Tascar 
when  you  was  a  baby,  arter  one  I  lubbed  in  de  warm 
sunland.  Oh  !  my  po',  ole,  dead  heart  jes'  seem  as  if  it 
had  riz  right  up  out  ob  de  grave." 

All  gathered  round  Gula,  overflowing  with  sympathy 
and  congratulations,  and  the  moon,  rising  above  the 
eastern  Highlands,  enabled  the  mother  to  seethe  features 
of  her  long-lost  son.  Every  moment  or  two  she  would 
cry  out, 


GULA  HEARS  A   VERITABLE  VOICE         237 

"  Yeh,  yeh,  it  is  my  little  Tascar,  sure  'nuff." 

"I  knowed  I'd  find  you,  mudder,"  said  the  boy 
delightedly.  "  Dey  couldn't  keep  me  long  down  dar 
when  dey  sole  me  'way  from  you.  I  came  back  to  whar 
you  used  to  be,  and  foun'  you  had  run  up  dis  way  (lame 
Tom  tole  me).  De  world  is  po'ful  big  place,  but  I 
knowed  I'd  find  you  if  I  only  looked  long  'nuff." 

"  You  are  now  no  longer  an  unknown  quantity,  so  we 
will  call  you  Tascar  after  this,"  said  Saville,  laugh- 
ing. 

"And  now,  Gula,"  added  Vera,  "you  have  at  last 
heard  a  real  voice,  and  I  hope  it  will  satisfy  you,  so  that 
you  will  not  listen  any  more  for  those  strange,  unearthly 
voices  that  you  thought  were  calling  you  away  from  us. 
I  suppose  Tascar  is  hungry,  like  the  rest  of  us  ;  so 
you  may  take  him  into  your  rocky  kitchen,  and  let  him 
help  you  get  our  supper.  Mr.  Saville  has  generously 
brought  us  a  great  many  things. 

"  See,  Mr.  Saville,"  she  continued,  taking  his  arm, 
and  leading  him  a  little  apart ;  "  see  what  a  difference 
your  coming  has  made  to  us  all.  Old  Gula  has  found 
her  son  ;  and  father  has  changed  so  much  for  the  better, 
I  scarcely  know  him." 

"  And  you  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"  Ah!  Mr.  Saville,  you  have  never  known  what  it 
was  to  have  but  one  friend,  one  hope,  in  the  world. 
When  I  first  heard  your  steps,  I  was  lying  on  mother's 
grave,  and  praying  that  I  might  speedily  sleep  beside 
her.  Surely  God  sent  you  to  us." 

"Think  so,  little  one,  if  it  does  you  any  good." 

"  But  do  you  not  think  so?  " 

"  All  I  know  is  that  I  have  come,  and  very  glad  I  am 
that  it  was  not  too  late." 

"  I  wish  you  could  explain  to  me  about  God,  and 
make  him  seem  near  to  me  again." 


238  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  I  cannot,  Vera  ;  let  us  change  the  subject,"  Saville 
replied,  a  little  abruptly. 

She  sighed,  but  soon  gave  herself  up  to  thorough  en- 
joyment of  the  happiest  hour  that  had  ever  yet  come 
into  her  brief  and  shadowed  life. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

CAMP-FIRES   AND   SUBTLER   FLAMES 

NOT  very  long  after  their  bountiful  supper,  Saville 
said, 

"  I  had  but  little  sleep  last  night,  and  have  taken 
many  steps  to-day  ;  so,  with  your  permission,  I  will  seek 
a  resting-place." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  we  have  scarcely  anything  better 
than  the  cabin  floor  to  offer  you,"  said  Vera  ruefully. 

"You  forget  that  I  am  a  soldier,  and  that  at  this  time 
of  the  year  I  ask  no  better  bed  than  the  greensward." 

The  cabin,  like  the  larger  one  near  West  Point,  had 
been  constructed  with  a  small  loft.  Into  this  Vera  crept, 
but  for  a  long  time  was  too  happy  for  sleep. 

Saville  took  the  blanket  that  Tascar  had  brought  at  his 
bidding,  and,  throwing  himself  under  a  wide-spreading 
hemlock,  slept  as  only  the  strong  and  weary  can  sleep. 
Gula  and  her  son  dozed  and  crooned  in  their  rocky 
recess,  till  the  dawn  aroused  them  to  preparations  for 
breakfast.  Even  the  poor,  remorseful  exile  rested  with 
an  unwonted  sense  of  security. 

The  next  morning,  Saville  tried  to  induce  Mr.  Brown 
to  permit  him  to  find  them  a  better  home  nearer  the  fort, 
but  found  that  any  proposition  of  the  kind  would  not 
be  entertained. 

"I  have  a  feeling  that  I  am  safe  here,  and  nowhere 
else,"  he  said.  "  If  you  think  best,  Vera  and  Gula  can 
go,  but  I  shall  remain." 

"  I  shall  not  leave  you,  father,"  said  Vera,  quietly. 

"Well,"  said  Saville,  cheerily  but  firmly,  "then  we 


240  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

must  make  you  all  as  comfortable  here  as  we  can.  A 
new  cabin,  as  large  as  the  old  one  that  was  burned,  must 
be  built." 

"But  that  will  attract  attention,"  remonstrated  Mr. 
Brown. 

"  Suppose  it  does.  I  have  satisfied  General  Clinton 
that  you  are  loyal  to  our  cause,  and  he  has  promised  you 
and  your  family  full  protection." 

"  Does  General  Clinton  know  anything  of  me  and  my 
whereabouts?"  cried  the  man,  starting  up  in  great 
alarm. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and  if  he  had  only  known  before  what  I 
told  him  yesterday,  you  would  not  have  been  molested 
in  your  old  ^home.  Can  you  not  see,  Mr.  Brown,  that 
nothing  so  draws  attention  and  suspicion  as  your  effort 
to  hide  from  every  one  ?  At  the  time  I  was  so  hastily 
ordered  away  from  this  region,  I  yielded  to  your  judg- 
ment, and  did  not  say  much  concerning  you,  not  having 
your  permission.  But  now,  for  Vera's  sake,  as  well 
as  your  own,  I  can  allow  no  doubt  to  exist  as  to  the 
fact  of  your  being  heartily  on  our  side.  In  respect  to 
anything  else,  no  one  seeks  to  know  aught.  I  can  prom- 
ise you  all  perfect  safety,  if  you  will  do  just  what  I 
ask." 

The  exile's  brow  contracted  darkly,  but  he  would  not 
meet  Saville's  eye. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Saville,  in  a  low,  meaning  tone. 

The  man  now  gave  him  a  startled,  apprehensive  look. 

"  I  can  promise  you  perfect  safety,  if  you  do  just  what 
I  ask,"  Saville  continued,  in  the  same  low,  significant 
voice. 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  was  the  eager  reply. 

"  There's  my  hand  in  pledge." 

Mr.  Brown  seized  it  like  a  drowning  man,  and  from 
that  hour  became  Saville'  slave. 

Vera  watched   this  strange   interview  with  a  beating 


CAMP-FIRES  AND  SUBTLER  FLAMES         241 

heart,  and,  at  its  close,  felt  as  never  before,  even  that 
her  destiny  also  was  controlled  by  the  young  stranger, 
whom  Providence  had  sent,  as  she  believed,  to  rescue 
both  herself  and  her  father  from  the  hopeless  and 
helpless  condition  into  which  they  had  drifted. 

With  characteristic  energy  and  promptness,  Saville  set 
about  the  tasks  made  necessary  by  the  decision  to 
remain  in  the  secluded  glen.  He  decided  that  the  little 
hut  already  built  should  be  preserved  for  Gula  and  her 
son  ;  and  the  plan  of  a  much  larger  cabin,  for  the  use 
of  Vera  and  her  father,  was  marked  out  adjoining  it. 

"  I  also  mean  to  have  a  little  nook  myself,"  he  said. 

"  It  will  all  be  yours,"  Vera  added  promptly. 

He  looked  at  her  so  earnestly  that  the  blood  came  into 
her  face,  though  why,  she  did  not  know.  After  a  mo- 
ment, he  said,  half  to  her,  and  half  in  soliloquy, 

"  I  cannot  tell  why  it  is,  but  this  place  already  seems 
to  me  more  like  a  home  than  any  I  have  yet  known." 

"I  do  not  understand  how  you  can  feel  so,"  said 
Vera,  looking  frankly  into  his  face.  "  It  will,  in  truth, 
be  home  to  me  ;  because  containing,  when  you  are  here, 
all  whom  I  love." 

Again  he  gave  her  an  earnest  look,  as  he  said, 

"  Nature  is  a  rare  teacher,  my  little  friend  ;  and  she 
has  taught  you  a  truth  which  we  sometimes  forget,  to  our 
sorrow.  Only  the  places  which  contain  those  whom  we 
love  can  be  homes." 

"  And  it  is  your  love  for  us,"  exclaimed  Vera,  openly 
and  joyously,  as  if  she  had  solved  the  mystery,  "  that 
makes  this  forbidding  place  seem  homelike." 

"  That  is  not  bad  logic,"  he  replied,  laughing  ; 
"  though  your  pronoun  is  rather  too  general." 

"How  strange  it  is,"  said  Vera,  musingly,  "that  we 
should  have  met  as  we  did,  and  that  you  should  have 
become  my  brother  in  very  truth  !  Do  such  things  often 
happen  in  the  world  ?  " 


242  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head. 

"Then  I  have  been  specially  favored,  when  I  have 
been  almost  repining  at  my  lot." 

"  I  certainly  have  been  very  fortunate  in  finding  such 
a  sweet,  wild  flower  in  this  wilderness  of  a  world.  But 
come  ;  this  is  not  preparing  for  the  cold  storms  of  winter, 
which,  unfortunately,  are  near.  You  must  ply  the  needle, 
and  bring  home  the  game,  while  your  father  and  Tascar 
do  the  heavy  work.  Ye  gods  !  how  I  would  like  to  stay 
here  and  help  you  !  I  have  brought  plenty  of  powder 
and  shot  for  your  gun." 

"But  will  it  be  safe  to  have  the  report  of  fire-arms 
heard  here  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  the  old  policy  of  hiding  and  concealment 
is  past ;  and  as  soon  as  I  can,  I  shall  find  you  a  home 
where  you  can  have  good,  kind  neighbors.  Bring  your 
gun,  and  let  me  see  if  you  can  hit  that  gray  squirrel  in 
yonder  tall  tree." 

She  complied,  with  the  joyousness  of  a  child,  and  was 
soon  within  range  with  her  light  fowling-piece. 

"  Now,  quick!  before  he  moves,"  cried  Saville. 

Her  merry  laugh  rang  out,  as  she  threw  pebbles  at  the 
little  creature,  till,  thoroughly  alarmed,  it  ran  to  the  top- 
most boughs.  Then,  as  it  was  in  the  act  of  springing  to 
another  tree,  she  fired,  and  it  fell  dead  at  her  feet. 

"  I  take  off  my  hat  to  you,"  cried  Saville.  "  You 
excel  Diana  herself." 

The  morning  passed  all  too  quickly,  and,  after  an  early 
dinner,  Saville  returned  to  the  fort,  taking  Tascar,  that 
he  might  send  back  by  him  tools  and  other  needed  ar- 
ticles. 

During  the  week  following,  Saville  pleaded,  with 
justice,  that  he  had  scarcely  had  a  respite  from  duty  since 
joining  the  service,  and  obtained  leave  to  absent  himself 
for  several  days.  He  started  ostensibly  upon  a  hunting 
excursion  in  the  mountains,  but  took  the  shortest  path  to 


CAMP-FIRES  AND  SUBTLER  FLAMES         243 

the  secluded  valley,  which  was  beginning  to  have  for  him 
peculiar  attractions. 

The  days  passed  like  enchantment.  Under  the  new 
and  happier  conditions  of  her  life,  Vera  appeared  to 
grow  hourly  in  beauty  and  fascination.  The  recuperative 
power  of  nature  was  in  her  mind  and  body.  She  was  like 
a  sunny  bank,  that  a  few  warm  spring  days  change  from 
wintry  bareness  to  fragrant  bloom. 

Her  feeling  for  Saville  was  the  frank,  undisguised  affec- 
tion of  a  sister ;  or,  perhaps  more  truly,  the  strong, 
innocent  love  of  a  child,  that  gives  its  heart  wholly  for 
the  time  to  those  who  win  it. 

The  woman  in  Vera  was  still  unawakened,  though,  at 
times,  there  was  an  intensity  in  Saville' s  gaze  that  quick- 
ened her  pulse  a  little,  and  mantled  her  cheek  with  a 
richer  hue  than  even  restored  vigor  was  giving  it  again. 

As  for  Saville,  he  was  self-deceived.  We  have  already 
seen  that  he  had  a  faculty  for  illusion,  and  this  was  espe- 
cially true  in  the  line  of  his  favorite  theories.  As  he  had 
once  imagined  his  transient  passion  for  a  most  unworthy 
object  to  be  the  precursor  of  lasting  and  conjugal  affec- 
tion, so  now  he  regarded  the  pure  flame  of  love,  which 
Avas  kindling  in  his  heart  for  Vera,  as  a  lofty  kind  of  friend- 
ship, resulting  from  the  peculiar  accord  of  their  two 
natures.  He  felt  that  he  was  in  all  respects  ennobled 
and  made  better  by  heri  society.  Unconsciously  she 
stimulated  every  good  quality  he  possessed  into  greater 
vigor.  She  was  so  pure  and  innocent  herself  that  his 
passion  slept  in  her  presence,  while  his  higher  faculties 
of  mind  and  heart  were  awakened  into  aspirations  that 
were  as  thrillingly  delightful  as  they  were  foreign  to  all 
his  former  experience. 

Moreover,  his  conscience  commended  the  part  he  was 
acting  towards  her.  The  circumstances  of  their  acquaint- 
ance had  been  such,  that  every  generous,  sympathetic 
trait  he  possessed  was  enlisted  in  her  behalf.  He  re- 


244  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

garded  himself  as  a  disciple  of  nature  and  an  apostle  of 
humanity.  In  his  view,  nature  had  been  her  teacher, 
and  had  formed  her  character ;  and  the  result  confirmed 
his  theory  that  all  should  be  guided  by  nature's  teachings. 
In  their  warm  and  growing  friendship,  were  not  they  both 
following  the  strong  and  natural  impulses  of  their 
hearts  ? 

As  one  devoted  to  the  interests  of  humanity,  he  would 
consider  himself  most  false,  did  he  leave  this  innocent 
maiden  to  the  perils  of  her  peculiar  isolated  condition, 
and  he  honestly  desired  to  obtain  for  her  a  safe  and  rec- 
ognized position  in  society,  as  soon  as  possible, 

But  the  spell  of  her  beauty  grew  daily  upon  him  ;  the 
touch  of  her  hand  was  acquiring  subtle  power  to  thrill 
every  nerve  and  fibre  of  his  body  ;  the  tones  of  her  voice 
kept  repeating  themselves  for  long  hours  in  his  heart  ; 
and  before  his  visit  was  over,  even  the  man  of  theories  and 
illusions  was  perplexed  at  certain  peculiarities  in  his 
platonic  friendship. 

But  the  woman  in  Vera  still  slumbered,  and  she  re- 
turned his  affection  with  the  same  frank  innocence  as  at 
first. 

After  his  visit  to  the  romantic  glen,  life  at  the  fort  was 
to  Saville  very  "  weary,  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable." 
Not  even  the  fact  that  the  enemy  might  soon  make  a 
demonstration  up  the  river,  could  greatly  divert  his 
thoughts  at  first,  and  only  as  the  tidings  from  the  armies, 
under  both  Washington  and  Gates  grew  full  of  exciting 
interest,  and  the  prospect  that  the  British  forces  in  New 
York  would  seek  to  force  their  way  through  the  High- 
lands became  quite  certain,  did  his  old  military  ardor 
rekindle.  As  all  seemed  quiet  on  Saturday  evening,  the 
4th  of  October,  he  obtained  permission  to  be  absent  from 
the  fort  during  the  Sabbath.  The  moment  the  duties  of 
the  day  were  over,  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  secluded 
valley,  which  now  shut  in  his  thoughts  from  the  outer 


CAMP-FIRES  AND  SUBTLER  FLAMES        245 

world  almost  as  completely  as  it  immured  the  exiles  who 
had  found  a  refuge  there. 

His  coming  was  a  glad  surprise  to  Vera,  and  there 
were  evidences  of  deeper  feeling  in  her  welcome  than  she 
had  ever  yet  manifested. 

"  You  are  not  going  away  again  from  this  region  ?  " 
she  asked  eagerly. 

"  No't  soon,  that  I  am  aware.     Why  ?  ' 

"  I  have  had  such  a  dreary  foreboding  of  evil  of  some 

kind,  and  last  night  I  dreamed "  and  she  suddenly 

covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Why,  Vera,  this  is  unlike  you  :  are  you  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  but  it  was  such  a  terrible  dream  !  " 

"  Tell  me  it,  and  I  will  explain  it  away." 

"  I  dreamed  that  there  had  been  a  battle,  and  that  you 
were  left  wounded  and  dying  on  the  ground,  and  I  could 
not  find  you,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  shuddering  tone,  with 
tears  starting  afresh.  "  Is  there  prospect  of  a  battle?  " 

"  No  special  prospect — no  more  than  there  has  been 
for  several  days  past  ;  but  a  soldier  cannot  look  for  any- 
thing else." 

"  I  wish  I  did  not  feel  so,"  said  Vera. 

"  Come,  cheer  up,  my  little  friend.  Dreams  go  by  con- 
traries. Never  shed  tears  over  troubles  that  may  not 
come  ;  "  and  he  exerted  himself  to  his  utmost  to  banish 
her  gloomy  fears. 

The  new  log  cabin,  at  which  he  also  had  labored 
during  his  visit,  was  now  nearly  complete,  and  he  kindled 
a  genial  fire  in  its  ample  chimney -place. 

He  took  a  genuine  interest  in  all  that  had  been  done  in 
his  absence,  and  praised  the  results  of  each  one's  labor. 
But  Vera  noted  with  pleasure  that  he  lingered  longest 
over  her  handiwork.  Never  before  had  he  been  so  kind 
or  so  thoughtful  of  her.  His  mere  tones  and  glances 
were  like  caresses.  But  all  this  only  made  her  heart 
more  full,  for  she  could  not  cast  off  the  miserable  presenti- 


HI 

tnent  with  which  she  had  risen  that  morning.  For  his 
sake,  however,  she  disguised  her  feelings. 

After  dinner,  the  following  day,  they  took  a  long  walk 
together,  and  she  accompanied  him  well  on  his  way  back 
to  the  fort. 

As  they  were  parting,  she  said,  as  she  clung  to  his 
hand, 

"  Promise  me  one  thing — if  there  is  a  battle — that  you 
will  not  needlessly  or  recklessly  expose  yourself.  What 
would  become  of  us  if  you  were — if  you  were — oh  !  my 
heart  almost  breaks  even  at  the  thought !  If  you  have 
any  pity  or  love  for  me,  grant  what  I  ask." 

"  '  If  I  have  any  love  for  you,'  Vera?  I  hardly  dare 
trust  my  heart  to  answer.  Well,  well,  little  sister,  I  will 
be  as  prudent  as  a  soldier  can  be  with  honor.  I  must 
say  good-bye  at  once,  or  I  may  be  tempted  not  to  go  at 
all,"  and  for  the  first  time  he  stooped  down  and  kissed 
her  forehead. 

She  watched  his  receding  figure  as  long  as  it  was 
visible,  and  then  returned  to  the  cabin,  with  an  increas- 
ing weight  upon  her  heart. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  vicinity  of  the  fort,  the 
camp-fires  were  lighted,  and  around  these  the  men  were 
gathered,  cooking  the  evening  meal.  To  divert  his 
thoughts,  he  wandered  aimlessly  here  and  there,  watch- 
ing the  strange  effects  of  light  and  shadow  among  the 
rocks  and  evergreens,  and  the  picturesqueness  of  the 
bearded  men  as  they  passed  to  and  fro  between  the 
fires.  Even  the  coarse  rations  of  the  soldiery  gave 
forth  a  savory  odor  in  the  open  air.  From  all  sides 
came  the  cheerful  hum  of  voices,  and  from  many 
groups,  the  sound  of  laughter,  or  the  notes  of  a  rollicking 
song. 

"  This  scene  has  more  the  air  of  a  gypsy  encampment 
than  the  stern  aspect  of  war,"  he  thought.  "  I  wish 
Vera  could  see  it,  for  it  would  quite  allay  her  fears. 


CAMP-FIRES  AND  SUBTLER  FLAMES         247 

What  does  that  singing  mean  yonder?"  and  he  made 
his  way  to  a  large  fire,  around  which  numbers  were 
increasing  continually. 

"Oh!  it's  a  religious  meeting.  There  is  Parson 
Gano  !  How  dearly  Vera  would  love  to  hear  his  pious 
jargon,  and  would  swallow  it  all,  poor  child,  as  un- 
doubted truth !  Still,  I  am  glad  to  note  that  she  speaks 
less  and  less  of  these  things,  and  think  she  has  a  native 
strength  of  mind  which  will  enable  her  to  outgrow  her 
superstitious  trammels.  Well,  Gano,  is  a  good,  brave 
fellow,  if  he  is  teaching  solemn  nonsense  ;  and  out  of 
curiosity  I'll  stay,  and  hear  what  he  has  to  say."  And 
he  sat  down  under  the  shadow  of  a  tree,  and  watched 
the  scene,  as  one  might  look  an  some  heathenish  incan- 
tation. 

The  throng  around  the  fire  grew  large,  for  the  preacher 
was  a  popular  speaker.  Officers  mingled  with  the  men, 
as  they  would  do  in  the  plain  meeting-houses  in  their 
distant  village  homes  ;  and  Saville  could  not  help  noting 
that  the  serious  faces  lighted  up  by  the  glare  of  the 
central  fire,  were,  in  the  main,  manly,  self-respecting  and 
intelligent. 

"  How  is  it,"  he  asked  himself,  "  that  sane  and  even 
very  clever  people  can  keep  up  with  so  much  pains  this 
old-fashioned  mummery  of  religion  ?  Cut  bono  ?  What 
is  the  good  of  it  all  ?  Here  we  are  living  in  a  world  of 
inexorable  law  and  destiny,  and  yet  multitudes  are 
praying  to  an  old  Hebrew  divinity,  that  never  had  any 
existence,  as  if  they  expected  practical  help!  Could 
anything  be  more  absurd?  The  idea  of  my  getting 
down  on  my  knees,  and  praying  to  one  of  Homer's 
demi-gods  !  What  is  it  in  men  that  makes  them  so 
credulous?  " 

Here  he  suspended  his  soliloquy  to  listen  to  the  hymn 
which  the  chaplain  gave  out  before  his  sermon.  The 
voices  that  sang  it  were  untrained  and  rough,  and  the 


248  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

harmony  not  very  smooth,  and  yet  the  critical  listener 
admitted  to  himself  that  there  was  a  certain  element  in 
the  music  which  made  it  differ  from  a  mere  performance. 

"  Human  action,  however  absurd  and  unreasonable, 
is  always  impressive  when  earnest,"  he  philosophized  ;• 
"  but,  after  all,  what  is  the  secret  spring  in  man  which 
leads  to  this  folly  ?  ' ' 

Though  not  aware  of  it  at  first,  he  was  answered  by  the 
text,  which  was  now  announced  : 

"Jesus  saith  unto  her,  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the 
life  ;  he  that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet 
shall  he  live  ; 

"  And  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall 
never  die.  Believest  thou  this  ?  " 

"  No,"  was  Saville's  decided  mental  response.  "  That 
Jesus  said  this  '  unto  her,'  is  most  appropriate,  for  it  was 
an  assertion  fit  to  be  addressed  only  to  a  credulous 
woman." 

"The  Being  who  uttered  these  remarkable  words," 
began  the  chaplain,  simply  standing  up  before  the  fire, 
and  talking  in  a  familiar  and  fatherly  way  to  his  audi- 
ence, "had  the  power  to  make  them  good  ;  and,  there- 
fore, we  may  take  to  our  hearts  all  the  hope  and  encour- 
agement they  contain." 

"  That  is  where  we  differ,"  thought  Saville,  rising  and 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  Why  had  the  man,  Jesus, 
such  power,  more  than  other  enthusiasts  of  the  past  ? 
That  is  the  way  with  all  these  teachers  of  religion. 
They  first  assume  what  is  contrary  to  reason,  and,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  their  conclusions  are  absurd,  and  often 
monstrous.  There  is  no  use  of  my  wasting  more  time 
here."  But,  as  he  was  moving  away,  the  preacher's 
words  again  caught  his  attention. 

"To-night,"  said  Chaplain  Gano,  "the  scenes,  even 
within  and  around  these  military  forts,  are  peaceful, 
rather  than  warlike.  The  sky  is  cloudless,  and  there  are 


CAMP-FIRES  AND  SUBTLER  FLAMES         249 

the  stars  looking  down  as  steadily  as  the  eyes  of  God. 
Only  the  insects'  chirp  is  heard  in  the  dark  valleys  and 
on  the  steeps  around  us.  The  Sabbath  stillness  is  broken 
by  no  ruder  sounds  than  the  profane  mirth  and  songs 
which  sometimes  disturb  our  worship.  To  the  ear  of 
heaven,  though,  ribald  words  and  laughter  make  harsher 
discoid  than  the  wildest  din  of  battle,  where  freemen 
are  warring  for  their  rights.  Still,  there  is  nothing  ap- 
parent to  man,  in  the  scenes  about  us  to-night,  to 
awaken  the  emotion  of  fear,  even  in  the  breasts  of  the 
fearful. 

"  But,  what  shall  be  on  the  morrow?  Such  is  our  un- 
certain tenure  of  earthly  life,  we  could  not  ask  this 
question  in  our  peaceful  homes  without  misgivings.  But 
how  much  it  means  to  the  soldiery  !  Only  by  killing 
many  of  us,  do  our  enemies  hope  to  put  their  feet  again 
upon  our  necks.  Many  of  us  must  be  slain  before  our 
righteous  cause  can  triumph.  A  few  years,  perhaps  but  a 
few  days — do  not  think  I  am  talking  wildly  when  I  say, 
but  a  few  hours — may  elapse  before  these  warm,  living 
bodies  of  ours  become  like  the  clods  beneath  our 
feet." 

A  foreboding  recollection  of  Vera's  dream  came  into 
Saville's  mind. 

"  Young  man,"  continued  the  chaplain  more  earnestly, 
leveling  his  long  finger  at  a  careless  young  fellow,  who 
was  whispering  to  a  comrade  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
fire,  "  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  are  a  brave  soldier. 
Alas  !  you  seem  so  bold  that  you  are  willing  to  defy 
God  as  well  as  man.  When  the  foe  attacks  these  forts, 
you  will  try  to  do  your  duty.  But  do  you  not  realize 
that  this  very  duty  may  cause  your  vigorous  young  body 
to  be  racked  with  dying  pains?  If  I  could  tell  you  that 
to-morrow  evening  you  would  be  lying  dead  somewhere 
in  the  cold  starlight,  what  ought  you  to  do  now  ?  What 
ought  you — and  you — and  you — to  do?"  he  asked 


250  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

solemnly,  sweeping  his  finger  around  the  entire  circle. 
"What  ought  we  all  to  do? 

"  Ought  ?  How  great  the  privilege,  rather,  of  creatures 
like  ourselves — weak  and  ready  to  perish  at  all  times, 
now  hourly  exposed  to  peril — how  great  is  the  privilege 
of  heeding  the  Divine  Saviour  as  he  cries,  '  I  am  the 
resurrection  and  the  life.'  If  we  trust  and  fear  the  One 
who  spake  these  words,  we  have  naught  else  to  fear. 
The  bullet  that  pierces  us  may  be  but  God's  swift  mes- 
senger to  summon  us  home.  Suppose  our  mangled 
bodies  do  strew  these  rugged  hillsides  and  rocky  forts ! 
The  cruel  foe  cannot  so  trample  them  out  of  shape,  nor 
time  so  destroy  them,  nor  the  winds  so  scatter  and 
dissipate  them,  but  that  he,  who  declared,  '  I  am  the 
resurrection,'  can  raise  them  up,  no  longer  dead  and 
defaced,  but  fashioned  like  unto  his  glorious  body  ;  and 
so  shall  we  be  ever  with  the  Lord.  Then  why  live  an- 
other hour,  why  go  into  desperate  battle,  without  this 
precious  Friend  ? 

"  Comrades  in  peril !  I  have  not  sought  to  work  upon 
your  fears  to-night,  but  rather  to  lead  you  to  accept  a 
faith  which  makes  even  cowards  brave,  and  strong  men 
lions  for  the  right.  We  have  reason  to  think  that  we 
shall  soon  meet  the  enemy  ;  but  there  is  no  foe  on 
earth,  or  in  hell  beneath,  that  can  strike  a  fatal  blow  at 
the  honest  Christ-believer  and  follower." 

To  Saville's  surprise,  the  preacher  had  kept  him  a 
listener  until  the  close  of  his  exhortation.  Then  with  a 
shrug,  he  strode  away  into  the  darkness  saying,  "  Here, 
I  suppose,  is  the  secret  of  it  all.  Men  know  they  must 
die  ;  these  poor  fellows  are  aware  that  they  may  be 
knocked  on  the  head  within  a  few  days.  They  all  want 
to  live  after  they  are  dead  (as  if  the  very  idea  were  not 
absurd),  and  they  give  a  ready  hearing  to  anybody  who 
holds  out  the  hope  that  they  may.  Well,  I  wouldn't 
mind  an  eternal  Elysium  myself,  if  I  could  have  the 


CAMP-FIRES  AND  SUBTLER  FLAMES         251 

fashioning  of  it.     One  thing  is  certain — Vera  would  share 
it  with  me." 

As  he  was  threading  his  way  among  the  camp-fires, 
towards  his  quarters,  he  heard  his  own  name  mentioned, 
and  naturally  paused  to  learn  in  what  connection  it  was 
used.  The  voice  came  from  beyond  a  clump  of  cedars 
to  his  right,  and,  looking  through  it,  he  saw,  just  below  a 
ledge  of  rock,  a  circle  of  visages,  differing  widely  in 
character  from  those  gathered  round  the  chaplain's  fire. 
The  physiognomy  of  Larry,  his  old  servant,  was  the  type 
of  the  majority  on  which  the  flames  were  flickering,  al- 
though the  expression  of  many  was  still  more  unpromis- 
ing. But  the  bold,  handsome  face  of  his  wife,  "  Captain 
Molly,"  would  have  received  the  first  attention,  even  if 
she  had  not  been  speaking. 

"Is  it  where  yer  ould  masther,  Saville,  does  be  goin* 
out  in  the  woods  that  ye' re  askin',  Larry  ?  " 

"  Yees." 

"Well,  I'm  a-thinkin',  should  ye  follow  his  trail,  ye'd 
foind  the  White  Witch  o'  the  Highlands." 

"It's  a  long  day  since  she's  been  seen  or  heard 
on." 

"  He's  found  her,  I  warrant  ye  ;  an'  moighty  glad  I  am 
we  had  nothin'  to  do  wid  the  diviltry  when  Barney  was 
shot.  He  questioned  me  close,  an'  if  I'd  been  a-lyin',  ; 
I  fear  he'd  a-eotched  me.  Wherever  this  gal  o'  his'n  is, 
folks  as  don't  want  their  heads  broke  ud  better  let  her 
alone." 

"  But  what  would  his  wife  say  to  his  galivantin'  off  in 
the  mountings  ? ' '  asked  Larry. 

"  Why  should  he  care  ? "  said  Molly  carelessly.  '•  If 
what  ye  tell  me  is  thrue,  he's  got  a  divil  for  a  wife,  and 
may  well  look  for  a  betther  one." 

"  'Cordin'  to  that,"  snickered  Larry,  "it's  me  that 
shud  go  galivantin'  off  in  the  mountings  too." 

A  loud  laugh  followed  this  sally. 


252  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Thry  it  once,"  cried  Molly,  "  an'  ye'll  foind  that  the 
divil  will  be  arther  ye  in  a  way  ye'll  not  forgit." 

"  Now  Molly,  me  darlint,  ye  knows  I  was  only  a-givin' 
ye  a  poke  in  the  ribs  in  sport,  so  ye  needn't  guv  me  any 
in  good  earnest.  My  ould  masther  can  have  the  White 
Witch  o'  the  Highlands,  and  the  Black  Witch,  too,  for  all 
o'  me." 

Saville  stayed  to  hear  no  more  of  their  low  talk,  but 
hastened  on,  his  cheeks  tingling  that  his  name  had  been 
coupled  with  that  of  the  maiden  under  such  circum- 
stances. 

He  sat  down  in  his  tent  in  no  enviable  mood,  and,  for 
the  first  time,  permitted  his  mind  to  dwell  on  the  conse- 
quences of  his  growing  intimacy  with  Vera.  After  all, 
would  his  brother  officers,  would  the  world,  take  a  more 
charitable  view  than  that  which  he  had  just  heard  ex- 
pressed ?  He  might  assert  that  his  love  for  Vera  was 
friendship,  brotherly  affection  ;  but  he  plainly  foresaw 
society's  shrug  of  incredulity.  From  the  depths  of  his 
heart,  also,  a  question  was  beginning  to  arise, 

"  Is  your  love  for  Vera  fraternal  or  platonic  only  ?  " 
And  he  found  that  he  could  not  give  a  prompt  and  positive 
answer.  Then  the  pledge  he  had  made  on  the  memor- 
able Sabbath  evening,  when  he  sacrificed  all  ties  to  his 
patriotism,  rose  up  before  him  like  a  spectre. 

"  I  shall  be  loyal  to  the  name  of  wife,  though  the  reality 
I  never  had." 

"  Curses  on  the  priest-ridden,  law  marred  world !  "  he 
muttered,  "  wherein  every  natural  impulse  is  thwarted. 
If  I  continue  to  act  the  part  of  a  brother  towards  Vera, 
society  will  point  its  finger  towards  us  both  in  scoffing  un- 
belief, and  imagine  the  worst.  If,  because  she  is  so  truly 
lovable,  I  come  to  love  her  more  warmly,  and  seek  for 
some  honorable  solution  of  the  problem,  society  will 
heartlessly  tell  me  that  there  is  none,  in  this  prudish  land, 
save  open  shame.  I  shall  be  informed  that  the  combina- 


CAMP-FIRES  AND  SUBTLER  FLAMES         253 

tion  of  woman,  devil,  and  bigot,  in  New  York,  is  ray  wife  ; 
that  the  mummery  in  the  church  made  us  one,  when  we 
have  nothing  in  common  except  our  hate  ;  and  that  it  is 
foul  sin  for  me  to  think  of  another.  Where  is  men's 
reason  ?  Why,  even  the  instinct  of  this  coarse,  untutored 
Irish  woman  hit  upon  a  better  philosophy.  And  yet  so  it 
is,  and  so  it  will  be  until  the  broad  and  rational  principles 
which  are  revolutionizing  France  are  accepted  and  acted 
upon  here.  Oh  !  that  we  had  a  Voltaire  and  a  Rousseau 
to  break  the  chains  of  the  past,  and  teach  that  the  im- 
pulses of  the  heart  are  right!  But  now,  all  my  pure  and 
ennobling  affection  for  Vera,  and  her  snow-white  love  for 
me,  will  be  jumbled  in  the  same  category  as  the  infidelity 
of  this  woman,  Molly,  to  her  husband." 

Further  bitter  musings  were  interrupted  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  an  orderly,  with  the  message  that  his  pres- 
ence was  required  at  once  at  headquarters. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  STORMING  OF    THE   FORTS 

Ox  reaching  the  tent  of  General  James  Clinton,  Saville 
found  all  the  leading  officers  of  the  garrison  already 
assembled,  and  was  informed  that  the  enemy  were  ad- 
vancing up  the  river,  and  had  already  landed  large  forces 
at  Tarry  town  and  Verplanck's  point.  He  also  found  that 
Governor  Clinton  had  just  arrived,  with  a  considerable 
reinforcement  of  militia.  After  giving  such  directions  as 
were  deemed  necessary,  Governor  Clinton  said, 

"The  enemy  will  probably  strike  Putnam  at  Peekskill 
first,  but  we  shall  have  our  own  share  of  fighting,  no 
doubt,  and  may  have  to  do  the  most  of  it.  It  is  well 
known  to  you,  gentlemen,  that  the  garrisons  are  not  as 
strong  as  we  could  wish.  We  must  double  our  strength 
by  doubling  our  courage  and  efforts.  I  shall  expect  every 
man  to  do  his  whole  duty.  I  request  that  the  engineer 
officers  do  all  in  their  power  to  strengthen  the  unfinished 
portions  of  the  works." 

Throughout  the  remainder  of  the  night,  the  din  of  labor 
resounded,  and  only  towards  the  break  of  day  was  Saville 
able  to  get  a  little  sleep. 

On  awakening,  he  immediately  repaired  to  the  gov- 
ernor's tent  for  instructions,  and  had  scarcely  reached  the 
place,  when  Major  Logan,  who  had  been  sent  with  one  hun- 
dred  men  on  a  scouting  expedition  beyond  the  Dunderberg, 
returned,  with  the  startling  information  that  about  forty 
boats,  crowded  with  British  troops,  had  landed  near  Stony 
Point. 

Saville,  having  no  special  command,  was  willing  to  do 
anything  which  promised  active  and  exciting  service  ;  he 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS  255 

therefore  volunteered  to  go  on  a  reconnoissance.  Gov- 
ernor Clinton,  who  had  learned  his  value  in  such  employ- 
ment on  a  previous  occasion,  at  once  accepted  his  offer, 
and  gave  him,  as  a  support,  a  lieutenant  and  thirty  men. 

Saville  and  his  party  proceeded  rapidly  along  the  moun- 
tain-road leading  from  Fort  Clinton  to  Haverstraw,  and, 
when  between  three  and  four  miles  out,  suddenly  met  the 
vanguard  of  the  English  forces,  upon  the  rapid  and 
stealthy  march  which  had,  as  its  object,  the  surprise  of 
the  forts. 

The  small  American  detachment  was  peremptorily 
summoned  to  surrender. 

"  Give  'em  a  volley  as  our  answer,"  said  Saville  ;  and 
the  wooded  defile  was  at  once  filled  with  the  preliminary 
echoes  of  the  mighty  uproar  soon  to  rage  among  the 
Highlands. 

Under  the  cover  of  their  fire,  the  scouting  party  re- 
treated rapidly  to  a  new  point  of  observation,  fortunately 
none  being  wounded  by  the  return  fire  of  the  enemy. 

After  some  further  skirmishing,  in  which  the  numbers 
and  purposes  of  the  attacking  force  became  more  ap- 
parent Saville  retreated  rapidly,  without  the  loss  of  a 
man,  and  reported.  In  the  meantime,  patrols  had 
brought  word  that  the  enemy  were  also  advancing 
around  Bear  Mountain,  to  the  rear  of  Fort  Mont- 
gomery. 

"  Putnam  has  been  outwitted,"  said  Governor  Clinton, 
"and  we've  got  to  take  all  the  blows.  Well,  I  believe 
in  giving  even  the  devil  his  due  ;  and,  in  my  opinion,  Sir 
Henry  Clinton  has  executed  a  magnificent  piece  of 
strategy.  He  really  does  honor  to  the  name,  and  I  am 
quite  inclined  to  claim  relationship.  We  must  see  to  it, 
James,  that  we  prove  that  the  American  branch  of  the 
family  has  not  degenerated,"  and  the  brother  smiled 
grimly  and  significantly. 

Before  many  hours  passed,  Sir  Henry  himself  would 


256  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

have  been  among  the  first  to  admit  the  sturdiness  of  the 
colonial  stock. 

"  It  is  now  past  noon,"  said  General  James  Clinton, 
"and  yet  we  hear  nothing  from  Putnam.  It's  very 
strange  !  " 

"I  will  send  a  messenger  at  once  to  him,"  said  his 
brother,  and  a  man  by  the  name  of  Waterbury  was  dis- 
patched. 

"  I  hope  that  fellow  can  be  depended  upon,  for  I  did 
not  like  his  looks  overmuch,"  said  James  Clinton.  "  The 
firing  is  growing  sharp  out  on  the  Bear  Mountain  road, 
and  we  must  have  reinforcements  soon,  if  they  are  to  be 
of  any  service.  There  !  the  firing  has  commenced  at  the 
abatis,  where  the  road  passes  Sinnipink  Pond.  I  will 
return  to  Fort  Clinton  at  once,  and  do  my  utmost  to  carry 
out  the  measures  we  have  concerted." 

"God  be  with  you,  brother  !  Hit  hard  and  often,  and 
remember,  we  won't  lower  the  flag  while  we  have  a  foot 
of  ground  to  fight  on  !  How  many  men  did  you  say 
were  at  the  abatis  by  the  pond  ?  " 

"  Over  a  hundred." 

"  Let  them  hold  the  point  obstinately.  Time  is  worth 
everything  to  us  now.  Troops  from  Putnam  must  be 
here  soon.  Farewell." 

"Saville,"  continued  the  governor,  "  as  you  have  no 
command,  you  can  serve  me  best  by  acting  as  an  aide. 
Colonels  Bruyn  and  M'Claghrey  are  out  on  the  Orange 
Furnace  road  with  sixty  men.  Tell  Colonel  Livingston  to 
detach  thirty  more  to  their  support.  Take  that  horse 
yonder,  ride  out,  learn  what  you  can,  and  repoi't  as  soon 
as  possible." 

Saville  urged  the  poor  beast  at  a  tremendous  pace  up 
the  rocky  way  ;  but,  by  the  time  he  reached  the  point  of 
conflict,  the  advance  skirmishers  of  the  small  American 
force  had  been  driven  in,  and  Colonel  Campbell,  with  the 
assaulting  column,  was  pressing  on  as  rapidly  as  the  nar- 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS  257 

row  road,  leading  through  a  wild,  rugged  pass,  permitted. 
The  enemy  paused  a  moment,  as  a  brass  field-piece  sent 
a  ball  plowing  into  their  ranks,  and  then,  with  the  courage 
and  steadiness  of  trained  soldiers,  filed  off,  on  either  side 
of  the  road,  into  the  partial  shelter  of  the  wooded  hill- 
sides, and  pressed  on  as  before,  in  the  face  of  a  brisk  fire 
of  small-arms.  Their  advance  was  so  rapid,  and  the  road 
so  rough  and  impracticable,  that  it  was  found  impossible 
to  extricate  the  field-piece,  and  it  was  therefore  spiked 
and  abandoned. 

With  these  tidings,  Saville  returned  to  the  fort.  But, 
while  present  at  the  affray  over  the  field-piece,  his  atten- 
tion had  been  caught  by  the  occasional  report  of  a  single 
rifle  from  a  shaggy  hillside,  along  which  he  knew  the 
enemy  must  be  advancing,  and  he  correctly  surmised 
that  it  was  the  exile,  striking  at  the  power  he  so  greatly 
dreaded.  Vera's  dream  and  presentiment  flashed  into 
his  mind,  and  he  muttered, 

"  Poor  child  !  this  firing  no  doubt  causes  her  to  imagine 
that  all  her  forebodings  of  evil  will  come  true.  I  hope  I 
shall  live  to  laugh  her  out  of  such  fancies  for  the  future." 

On  his  way  back  to  the  fort,  he  had  observed  that  Colo- 
nel Lamb  had  posted  himself  in  a  commanding  position, 
with  a  twelve-pounder  ;  and  the  veteran  had  grimly  re- 
marked that  they  would  hear  from  him  soon. 

"  Return,  and  request  Colonel  Lamb  to  hold  the  enemy 
in  check  as  long  as  possible.  Then  cross  to  Fort  Clinton, 
and  bring  me  word  how  things  are  going  there.  Good 
God!  Why  doesn't  Putnam  send  me  help?"  said 
Governor  Clinton,  who  was  chafing  like  a  lion  in  the  toils. 

Saville  made  the  fire  fly  along  the  flinty  road,  and  soon 
regained  the  crest  of  the  hill  upon  which  Colonel  Lamb 
had  posted  himself  with  his  formidable  twelve-pounder. 
The  advance  party,  under  Colonel  Bruyn,  were  marching 
around  to  the  rear  of  the  gun,  within  supporting  distance. 
As  soon  as  the  head  of  the  English  column  showed  itself, 


258  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Lamb  opened  with  the  precision  of  aim  for  which  he  was 
famous,  and  his  quick  firing,  with  the  havoc  which  it 
made,  once  again,  and  more  decidedly,  checked  the 
hostile  advance. 

The  sharp-shooters  under  Colonel  Bruyn  were  seeking 
stations  among  the  trees  and  rocks,  from  which  to  gall 
the  enemy  with  small-arms,  and  aid  in  maintaining  the 
position,  when,  unfortunately,  the  cannon  with  which 
Colonel  Lamb  was  doing  so  much  execution  burst.  The 
British  troops,  with  a  loud  huzza,  rushed  forward,  and  the 
Americans  retreated,  fighting,  to  the  fort. 

When  Saville  reached  Fort  Clinton,  the  abatis  at  Lake 
Sinnipink  had  been  carried,  and  such  of  its  defenders  as 
had  not  been  killed  and  disabled  were  retreating  rapidly, 
with  the  enemy  close  upon  them. 

Coolly  walking  the  parapet  of  the  fort,  with  the  bullets 
already  whistling  round  him,  was  the  tall  form  of  Chap- 
lain Gano  ;  and  his  intrepid  bearing  had  an  excellent  in- 
fluence on  the  militia,  most  of  whom  were  now,  for  the 
first  time,  to  face  the  dreaded  Hessians,  who  were,  to 
many  of  the  simple  rustics  of  that  day,  monsters  rather 
than  men.  Fearful  stories  concerning  them  were  rife, 
the  mildest  of  which  being  that,  as  they  were  unac- 
quainted with  the  English  tongue,  they  neither  under- 
stood nor  heeded  offers  of  surrender  or  cries  for  mercy  ; 
but  bayoneted  indiscriminately  all  who  fell  into  their 
hands. 

The  survivors  of  the  conflict  at  the  abatis  brought 
word  that  these  terrible  Hessians  were  advancing  in  vast 
numbers,  at  which  poor  Larry  so  quaked  that  he  could 
scarcely  serve  his  gun,  and  not  a  few  others  wished 
themselves  safe  in  their  humble  homes.  But  "  Captain 
Molly  "  rallied  the  spirits  and  courage  of  those  near  her, 
by  springing  on  the  rampart,  and  calling,  in  her  shrillest 
tones, 

"  Come  on,  Hessians  or  Red-coats  ;  we'll  trate  ye  all 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS  259 

the  same,  and' 11  put  more  bullets  an'  balls  intil  yees  than 
ye' 11  loike  for  supper." 

"  Och  !  Molly,  me  darlint,  get  down,"  cried  Larry. 
"  What  wud  we  all  do  an'  ye  shud  sthop  a  Hessian 
bullit?" 

But  Molly  recklessly  kept  her  exposed  position,  gesticu- 
lating and  firing  volleys  of  epithets  towards  the  advanc- 
ing foe,  until  ordered  down  by  one  of  the  officers.  She 
then  descended,  amid  the  loud  huzzas  and  laughter  of 
scores  of  poor  fellows  whose  voices  would  soon  be  hushed. 

Having  received  such  message  as  General  James 
Clinton  desired  to  send  to  his  brother,  Saville  galloped 
back  to  Fort  Montgomery,  and  barely  escaped  being  in- 
tercepted by  the  environing  forces. 

It  was  now  four  o'clock,  and  both  the  forts  were  fairly 
invested.  The  two  brave  men  who  commanded  them 
were  still  hoping  for  aid  from  Putnam,  and  determined  to 
make  as  obstinate  a  resistance  as  their  inadequate  forces 
permitted. 

The  enemy  gave  but  brief  respite,  and,  after  a  rapid 
disposition  of  the  assaulting  columns,  pushed  forward  to 
the  attack.  By  the  aid  of  his  glass,  Saville  could  see  his 
old  acquaintance,  Colonel  Beverly  Robinson,  leading 
forward  many  neighbors  and  fellow  townsmen  whom  he 
knew. 

It  was  evident  that  the  enemy  did  not  calculate  upon  a 
very  stubborn  resistance,  and  hoped  to  carry  the  works  by 
a  simultaneous  attack.  Therefore  they  advanced  con- 
fidently, and  in  imposing  military  array,  expecting  to  awe 
and  intimidate  the  rustic  soldiery  opposed  to  them.  But 
the  terrific  and  well-directed  fire,  both  of  cannon  and 
small-arms,  that  circled  around  the  ramparts  of  both  the 
forts,  soon  taught  them  their  error,  and  showed  that  the 
keys  of  the  Highlands  could  be  won  only  by  a  bloody 
battle. 

Again  and  again  they  advanced  to  the  charge,  but  only 


260  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

to  be  repulsed  and  driven  back,  strewing  the  broken  and 
rocky  region  with  their  dead  and  wounded. 

An  hour  passed — an  hour  of  bloody,  obstinate  fight- 
ing, on  both  sides — in  which  many  souls,  hot  with  wrath, 
mad  with  excitement,  passed  away  from  the  scene  of 
conflict. 

But,  to  the  scanty  garrison,  the  loss  of  men  was  a  far 
more  serious  matter  than  to  the  full  battalions  of  the 
enemy.  The  lines  of  Fort  Montgomery  were  extensive, 
and  but  partially  finished  ;  and  Governor  Clinton  was 
able  to  repulse  all  attacks  thus  far  only  by  good  general- 
ship and  the  indomitable  spirit  of  his  men. 

The  British  officers,  however,  had  by  this  time  gauged 
quite  correctly  the  forces  opposed  to  them,  and  were  satis- 
fied that  they  could  eventually  carry  the  works  by  the 
mere  weight  of  numbers.  In  order  to  save  himself  further 
loss,  Sir  Henry  Clinton  ordered  a  brief  cessation  of  hos- 
tilities, and  sent  in  a  flag  of  truce,  with  the  dire  threat  that, 
unless  both  the  garrisons  surrendered  within  five  minutes, 
he  would  put  all  to  the  sword. 

Lieutenant-Colonel  Livingston  was  ordered  to  receive 
the  flag,  and  instructed  to  inform  Sir  Henry  Clinton  that 
the  Americans  would  defend  the  forts  to  the  very  last  ex- 
tremity. 

"  This  putting  everybody  to  the  sword  is  a  game  that 
two  can  play  at,"  remarked  the  governor  grimly.  He 
still  had  hopes  that  a  reinforcement  from  Peekskill  might 
arrive  at  any  moment,  and  felt  sure  that  if  he  could  main- 
tain the  position  until  the  following  day,  he  would  cer- 
tainly receive  relief. 

Having  defiantly  refused  to  capitulate,  nothing  now  re- 
mained for  the  garrisons  but  the  most  desperate  resistance. 
As  the  men  in  Fort  Clinton  saw  the  flag  retire  from  the 
open  space  where  the  parley  had  been  held,  they  set  their 
teeth,  and  many  faces  grew  white  and  stern  with  the  de- 
termination to  sell  life  dearly. 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS  261 

The  October  day  was  drawing  to  a  close.  The  sky  was 
overcast  with  clouds,  as  if  heaven,  offended  at  the  rude 
clamor  of  earthly  passion,  were  frowning  upon  the  scene. 

As  the  flag  disappeared  within  the  hostile  ranks,  there 
was,  for  a  few  moments,  an  awful  lull  and  suspense.  The 
echoes  of  the  preceding  strife  had  died  away,  and  there 
was  now  an  ominous  and  oppressive  silence,  broken  only 
by  the  groans  of  the  wounded  and  dying.  Then,  from  the 
environing  foe,  came  a  hoarse  and  increasing  murmur  of 
rage.  Commands  and  orders  were  given  rapidly,  and  the 
storm  of  war  broke  forth  more  vehemently  than  before. 

The  British  ships,  under  Admiral  Hotham,  had  now 
come  up  within  range,  and  commenced  bombarding  the 
forts  and  the  American  vessels  that  were  anchored  above 
the  chain  and  chevaux-de-frise,  which  had  been  stretched 
across  the  river  for  the  purpose  of  obstructing  navigation. 
The  conflict  was  thus  raging  upon  the  water  as  well  as  on 
the  shore,  the  heavy  guns  of  each  party  adding  greatly  to 
the  fearful  uproar  resounding  among  the  mountains. 

The  sun  was  setting  behind  obscuring  clouds,  and,  in 
the  early  and  deepening  gloom,  the  flashes  from  the  fire- 
locks and  cannon  grew  more  lurid  and  distinct,  increas- 
ing the  terrors  of  the  scene.  The  garrison  of  Fort  Mont- 
gomery, thinned  by  the  strife  which  had  already  occurred, 
and  compelled  to  defend  works  far  too  extensive  and  im- 
perfect, considering  its  scanty  number,  was  fighting 
heroically,  and  had  thus  far  repulsed  the  most  determined 
assaults.  But  the  governor's  forces  were  inadequate,  and 
the  enemy  were  gaining  and  holding  positions,  in  the 
broken  region  in  the  rear  of  the  fort,  that  were  menac- 
ingly near  the  American  lines. 

At  one  of  these  threatened  points,  Saville,  who  was 
sweeping  the  field  with  his  glass,  saw  a  heavy  massing  of 
British  grenadiers,  and  he  directed  thegovernor's  attention 
thither.  Lord  Rawdon  was  preparing  for  his  memorable 
charge,  which,  with  the  supporting  attacks  all  along  the 


262  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

line,  decided  the  fate  of  the  day.  As  a  chivalric  volunteer, 
at  his  side  was  his  friend,  the  Count  Gabrouski,  a  Polish 
aide-de-camp  of  Sir  Henry  Clinton. 

The  governor,  for  a  moment,  scanned,  with  a  heavy 
frown,  this  thunderbolt,  whose  shock  he  must  soon  sustain, 
and  then  made  such  disposition  to  receive  it  as  was  pos- 
sible in  the  brief  time  allowed  him. 

"  If  we  do  not  repulse  this  attack,  and  the  worst  comes 
to  the  worst,"  he  said  to  Saville,  "  cross  to  Fort  Clinton, 
by  the  foot-path,  and  tell  my  brother  not  to  surrender, 
but  cut  his  way  out  among  the  hills.  The  darkness  will 
favor  this." 

Slowly  and  steadily  at  first,  but  with  increasing  speed, 
the  assaulting  column  advanced  through  the  gloom,  be- 
coming every  second  more  distinct  and  terrible.  Can- 
non and  musket  balls  made  gaps,  but  the  ranks  closed 
up,  leaving  no  more  trace  than  the  smooth  surface  of  a 
smitten  lake.  The  foremost  fell.  The  point  of  this 
human  entering  wedge  appeared  to  crumble,  as  it  reached 
the  fort.  The  tall  Polish  count  seemed  at  one  moment  a 
Homeric  demi-god,  as  he  was  about  to  spring  across  the 
fosse  upon  the  rampart.  A  second  later,  he  was  a  weak, 
dying  man,  with  only  strength  to  gasp,  to  the  grenadier 
who  bent  over  him, 

"Take  this  sword  to  Lord  Rawdon,  and  tell  him  the 
owner  died  like  a  soldier." 

The  American  resistance  was  as  vain  as  it  was  heroic. 
The  assaulting  column,  like  a  black  river,  flowed  steadily 
on,  and  by  its  enormous  weight  alone  pressed  everything 
back. 

"To  my  brother,  quick,  with  my  message,"  cried  the 
governor  to  Saville  ;  and  by  the  time  Saville  extricated 
himself  from  the  fort,  a  hand-to-hand  melee  had  com- 
menced. 

In  his  swift  transit  across  the  deep  ravine,  Vera's  dream 
again  occurred  to  him,  with  an  ominous  significance  and 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS  263 

his  face  grew  white  and  rigid,  with  the  determination  un- 
waveringly to  meet  the  worst.  But  as,  in  this  moment  of 
solitude  and  respite  from  the  mad  excitement  of  battle,  he 
realized  his  danger,  and  therefore  hers,  in  her  isolation, 
his  heart  sickened. 

When  he  entered  Fort  Clinton,  the  situation  was  as 
desperate  as  it  had  been  at  Fort  Montgomery  at  the  mo- 
ment of  his  departure..  All  was  confusion.  In  the  in- 
creasing darkness,  he  could  not  discover  General  Clinton. 
At  several  points,  the  enemy  seemed  pouring  over  the 
ramparts.  Shouts,  yells,  curses,  groans,  the  clangor  of 
weapons,  and  crash  of  musketry  deafened  and  bewildered 
him.  He  also  noted,  as  proof  that  the  enemy  were  tak- 
ing the  fort,  that  all  firing  of  cannon  had  ceased  on  the 
part  of  the  Americans.  Suddenly  he  heard,  above  the 
uproar,  a  shrill  voice,  which  he  knew  to  be  "Captain 
Molly's,"  crying, 

"Back,  ye  spalpeen!     Fire  the  gun." 

"  Here,  at  least,"  he  thought,  "  must  be  enough  of  our 
troops  to  form  a  rally  ing-point,"  and  drawing  his  sword, 
he  rushed  towards  the  place  from  whence  came  the  voice. 
Fugitives  rushed  against  him  ;  a  second  later  he  saw 
Larry  break  from  the  grasp  of  his  wife,  throw  down  his 
lighted  match,  and  fly. 

"  Divil  a  sthep  will  I  rin,  till  that  gun's  fired,"  cried 
Molly,  seizing  the  match  ;  and,  in  the  faces  of  the  enemy, 
who  were  climbing  the  rampart,  she  touched  off  the  last 
cannon  that  was  discharged  in  Fort  Clinton. 

All  this  passed  in  a  very  few  seconds.  With  a  wild 
Irish  whoop  of  exultation,  Molly  turned  to  escape,  when 
a  Hessian  lieutenant  laid  his  iron  grasp  upon  her,  and 
raised  his  heavy  sabre  to  strike . 

"  Wretch  !  would  you  kill  a  woman?"  cried  Saville, 
and  he  ran  the  man  through  the  body. 

"The  Holy  Vargin  bless  ye  !  Misther  Saville,"  ejacu- 
lated Molly,  springing  away  like  a  deer,  the  moment  the 


264  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

grasp  on  her  arm  relaxed.  But,  looking  back  as  she  ran, 
she  saw  Saville  fall,  from  a  savage  bayonet  thrust  in  his 
breast.  Then,  the  human  wave  that  was  surging  into 
the  fort  swept  over  him.  Under  the  cover  of  darkness, 
she  leaped  the  parapet  on  the  opposite  side,  scrambled 
down  the  steep  bank  into  the  ravine  of  Poplopen  Creek, 
and  escaped  with  many  other  fugitives,  among  whom  was 
General  James  Clinton,  wounded,  but  indomitable  in  his 
purpose  not  to  fall  into  the  enemy's  hands. 

Governor  Clinton  was  also  among  the  last  to  leave 
Fort  Montgomery.  On  reaching  the  shore  of  the  river, 
he  saw  a  boat  pushing  away,  and  hailed  it.  The  officer 
in  charge  knew  his  voice,  and  caused  the  boat  to  return. 
But  it  was  found  to  be  already  loaded  to  the  gunwale, 
and  the  governor  would  not  endanger  the  safety  of  its 
occupants  by  entering  it.  The  loyal  officer  generously 
offered  to  give  up  his  place,  but  the  governor,  equally 
generous,  would  not  listen  to  this.  The  enemy  were 
pressing  closely,  and  it  was  agreed  to  try  the  experiment 
of  adding  the  weight  of  one  more,  and,  to  the  joy  of  all, 
the  boat  was  still  above  the  water's  edge.  The  perilous 
transit  was  made  in  safety,  and  on  the  further  shore 
were  found  five  hundred  men,  whom  the  bewildered 
Putnam  had  at  last  sent,  but  too  late  to  be  of  any  service. 

The  man  Waterbury,  whom  the  governor  had  dis- 
patched to  Peekskill,  had  treacherously  delayed  his 
departure,  and,  on  the  following  day,  deserted  to  the 
enemy. 

On  the  capture  of  the  forts,  the  American  vessels 
above  the  chevaux-de-frise  slipped  their  cables,  and 
tried  to  escape  up  the  river  ;  but  the  wind  was  adverse, 
and  their  crews,  to  avoid  capture,  set  them  on  fire, 
and  abandoned  them.  Then  followed  scenes  that  were 
weird  and  awful  in  the  extreme,  forming  an  appropriate 
close  to  the  bloody  drama  of  the  day.  By  reason  of 
the  clouds,  night  had  come  on  suddenly,  and  was  very 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  FORTS  265 

dark.  When  the  torches  were  applied  to  the  ships, 
every  sail  was  set,  the  cannon  were  loaded,  and  there 
was  an  abundance  of  ammunition  in  the  magazines. 
In  a  few  moments,  they  became  'pyramids  of  fire,  as 
the  flames,  fanned  by  the  gale,  leaped  from  deck  to 
mast-head.  The  rugged,  precipitous  shores  were  lighted 
up  as  with  the  glare  of  noon,  and  the  neighboring 
mountains  seemed  like  a  group  of  giants  standing  around 
their  mighty  camp-fires. 

As  the  flames  reached  the  heavy  guns,  they  were  dis- 
charged, not  as  in  battle,  but  irregularly,  fitfully,  as  if 
some  capricious  demon  were  directing  all  in  accordance 
with  its  mad  impulses. 

The  region  where  the  vessels  were  drifting  has  ever 
been  famous  for  its  echoes,  and,  from  the  first,  the 
clamor  of  the  strife  had  been  repeated  and  augmented, 
until  it  might  have  seemed  that  the  combatants  were 
innumerable.  But  when  the  fire  reached  the  magazines 
of  the  ships,  volcanic  explosions  followed,  at  which 
even  the  granite  hills  appeared  to  tremble,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  the  deep  reverberations  never  would  cease.  Old 
Gula,  cowering  in  her  rocky  niche,  muttered, 

"  Dat's  de  mos'  awful  voice  I'se  eber  heard.  I'se 
afeared  on't." 

The  burning  wrecks  were  at  last  quenched  beneath 
the  water.  After  all,  the  passions  of  men  cannot  long 
disturb  nature's  deep  repose,  and  soon  silence  and  night 
held  undisputed  sway  on  the  river,  and  among  the 
mountains. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  WIFE'S  QUEST  AMONG   THE   DEAD 

FOR  a  long  time,  lights  had  glanced  hither  and 
thither  on  the  battle-field  and  within  the  forts,  and,  to 
one  eager  watcher  in  the  distance,  their  movements  had 
seemed  as  erratic  and  meaningless  as  the  glimmer  of 
fireflies  in  June.  The  surgeons,  with  their  assistants, 
were  gathering  up  the  wounded,  and  conveying  them  to 
points  where  they  could  receive  such  attention  as  .the 
hour  and  place  permitted. 

At  last,  Fort  Clinton  was  deserted  by  all  except  an 
occasional  sentinel,  and  those  who  still  lay  within  its 
walls  were  very  quiet. 

At  an  early  hour  in  the  evening,  its  parapet  was 
crossed  by  two  British  officers,  one  of  whom  carried  a 
lantern,  and  seemed  bent  on  an  eager  quest. 

"I  say,  Vennam,"  asked  his  companion,  "why  are 
you  so  anxious  to  find  this  Saville  ?  " 

"  For  the  sake  of  his  wife." 

"  Nonsense  !  His  wife  will  shed  no  tears  if  you  find 
him  with  a  bullet  through  his  head.  If  all  is  true  that  I 
have  heard,  she  hates  him  like  sin." 

"Far  more  than  sin,  man  ami,"  and  the  lantern  that 
he  held  down  that  he  might  peer  into  a  dead  man's  face, 
revealed  the  traces  of  recklessness  and  dissipation  in  his 
own.  "  Indeed,  I  scarcely  think  she  hates  sin  at  all. 
You  are  right,  however,  in  one  respect.  No  tears  will  be 
shed,  if  I  can  find  him  in  the  condition  of  this  carrion 
here,  unless  they  are  tears  of  joy.  Still,  for  her  sake,  I 
am  looking  for  her  husband  ;  and,  I  may  add,  for  my 


THE  WIFE'S  QUEST  AMONG  THE  DEAD      267 

own.  Knowing  how  glad  she  would  be  to  find  him 
here,  snoozing  quietly  in  the  eternal  sleep  of  which  he 
prates,  I,  as  her  proxy,  am  looking  for  him,  as  I  prom- 
ised. He  is  not  among  the  wounded  or  prisoners,  as 
far  as  I  can  learn  ;  if  I  cannot  find  him  among  the  dead, 
he  must  have  escaped,  and  we  shall  have  reason  to 
curse  our  luck." 

"  Well,  if  you  find  him  here,  and  food  for  the  crows, 
what  then  ?  " 

"  Then  I  invite  you  to  my  wedding." 

"  Wedding,  indeedjl  I  doubt  that !  You  are  not  one 
to  trammel  yourself  with  a  wife." 

"  I  confess  I  have  had  prejudices  against  the  holy  state  of 
matrimony,  but  any  other  relation  with  my  present 
lovely  charmer  would  involve  half  a  dozen  duels,  and 
with  good  shots.  I  wouldn't  have  a  ghost  of  a  chance 
in  running  the  gauntlet,  and  so  I  must  emulate  the  ex- 
ample of  the  good  King  David,  and  get  her  husband 
out  of  the  way.  I  snatched  a  musket  and  fired  at  him 
twice  to-day,  but  for  once  the  devil  did  not  help  his  own." 

"  By  St.  George  !  Vennam,  I  should  think  the  devil 
would  be  afraid  of  you." 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!"  was  the  reckless  response.  "Julie 
Saville  Ashburton  is  not,  and  she  is  the  most  magnificent 
creature  I've  ever  seen,  and  I've  been  something  of  a 
connoisseur  in  several  lands.  Besides,  she's  an  heiress, 
which,  to  a  man  of  my  tastes,  is  no  small  consideration." 

"  By  St.  George!  Vennam,  this  turning  up  of  dead 
men's  faces  is  grim  business.  I'm  getting  sick  of  it." 

"  Well,  well !  you  are  not  playing  for  the  stake  that  I 
am,  so  I  don't  wonder.  Perhaps  I  may  find  him  in  the 
morning.  Hold !  who  is  that  lying  behind  yonder  big 
Hessian?  That's  an  officer's  uniform.  O  ye  Plutonian 
gods  !  here  he  is !  dead,  too,  as  the  immortal  Caesar. 
That  bayonet-thrust  would  have  killed  an  ox.  Here's 
to  thee,  Julie,  and  our  wedding-bells  ;  "  and,  drawing  a 


268  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

flask  of  wine  from  his  pocket,  he  drank  deeply,  and  then 
passed  it  to  his  companion. 

"  And  will  the  bells  be  rung  soon?  " 

"  Ay,  that  much  we  shall  make  her  proud  relations 
yield.  Up  to  a  certain  point,  she  always  has  her  own 
way.  A  soldier's  life  is  too  uncertain  to  wait  upon  the 
slow  forms  of  decorous  custom.  Besides,  in  this  case, 
there  will  be  no  '  funeral  baked  meats  '  to  grow  cold. 
There,  I'll  take  his  sword,  if  I  can  withdraw  it  from  this 
beastly  Hessian,  and  that  will  be  proof  positive  that  I 
saw  him  dead.  Farewell,  now,  most  accommodating  of 
husbands !  your  sleep  may  be  as  '  eternal '  as  you 
like  ;  "  and  the  human  ghoul,  who  had  been  feasting 
his  eyes  on  the  dead,  disappeared,  in  the  darkness, 
towards  Fort  Montgomery. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
VERA'S  SEARCH  AMONG  THE  DEAD 

THE  Sunday  evening  following  the  departure  of  Saville 
had  been  to  Vera  one  of  peculiar  sadness  and  depres- 
sion. "  If  I  only  had  my  dear  old  Bible,"  she  thought, 
"and  could  turn  to  some  of  God's  promises,  perhaps 
they  would  comfort  and  reassure  ''me  ;  but,  in  a  way 
that  I  cannot  understand,  they  have  grown  vague,  and 
he  seems  far  off." 

Still,  she  again  and  again  tried  to  lift  her  heart  to 
heaven  in  prayer  ;  but  the  image  of  Saville  would  enter, 
and  absorb  every  thought,  and  the  presentiment  of  some 
evil  or  danger  weighed  down  her  spirits  with  increasing 
despondency. 

The  night  passed  mainly  in  sleepless  imaginings  of 
what  might  happen  ;  but,  with  the  light  of  Monday- 
morning,  she  tried  to  throw  off  the  incubus,  and  busy 
herself  with  the  tasks  which  she  knew  were  pleasing 
to  him. 

She  noted  that  her  father  appeared  restless,  and  that 
he  at  last  took  his  rifle,  and  disappeared  among  the  hills. 

About  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  she  thought  she 
heard,  faint  and  far  away,  the  report  of  fire-arms,  but 
tried  to  ascribe  the  impression  to  her  over-wrought  and 
anxious  state.  But  when  the  skirmishing  commenced 
on  the  Orange  Furnace  road,  and  there  was  no  longer 
room  for  doubt,  her  heart  sank,  with  such  an  over- 
whelming foreboding  of  evil,  that  she  almost  fainted. 

But  her  native  vigor  and  her  strong  affection  for 
Saville  soon  banished  all  weakness.  If  her  presentiment 
had  any  foundation,  it  might  be  that  even  her  hand 


270  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

could  reach  and  minister  to  him.  While  Vera  had 
inherited  her  mother's  gentleness,  she  also  had  her 
readiness  to  suffer  anything  for  the  sake  of  one  she  loved. 

Summoning  Tascar,  she  bade  him  prepare  at  once  to 
accompany  her  towards  Fort  Montgomery. 

"  Take  a  small  ax,  some  food,  and  materials  for  kind- 
ling a  fire,"  she  said. 

At  the  same  time  she  herself  took  some  bandages,  a 
flask  of  brandy  that  Saville  had  brought,  and  (what 
seemed  a  strange  act  in  so  gentle  a-  maiden)  she  also 
concealed,  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  a  keen-bladed  hunt- 
ing-knife. 

"  God  grant  I  may  have  no  use  for  this  !  "  she  sighed  ; 
"but  I  have  been  taught  what  some  men  are." 

By  the  time  that  the  first  report  of  the  field-piece  was 
echoing  through  the  mountains,  they  were  on  their  way. 

With  a  boldness  which  greatly  taxed  poor  Tascar 's 
courage,  she  approached  so  near  the  fort,  that  two  or 
three  half-spent  cannon  balls  splintered  the  rocks  a  little 
below  her  hidden  outlook.  Her  eyes  dilated  with  horror, 
as  she  watched  the  bloody  conflict  that  was  taking  place 
almost  at  her  feet.  Her  keen  eyesight  enabled  her  to  see 
men  falling  within  the  fort,  as  the  strong  north  wind  swept 
aside  the  smoke.  At  times  she  could  scarcely  resist  the 
wild  impulse  to  rush  through  the  ranks  of  the  intervening 
enemy,  and  assure  herself  that  Saville  was  not  among 
those  who  lay  motionless  within  the  ramparts,  or  who 
were  being  carried  to  a  more  sheltered  position.  Soon  all 
became  dusky  and  obscure  in  the  early  descending  night. 
The  lurid  flashes  grew  more  distinct,  and  these  indicated 
that  the  besiegers  were  drawing  continually  nearer  the 
besieged.  As  the  lines  of  fire  drew  nearer  and  nearer, 
she  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  throbbing  heart.  Then 
there?  came  a  great  shout.  With  lips  parted,  and  eyes 
wild  with  terror,  she  sprang  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  A 
dark  mass  was  entering  the  fort.  The  flashes  became 


VERA'S  SEARCH  AMONG  THE  DEAD         271 

intermingled,  irregular  ;  they  receded  towards  the  river 
and  the  northeast  side  of  the  fort,  and  at  last  ceased. 

She  sat  down,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  as 
she  moaned  shudderingly, 

"  He  is  lying  yonder,  bleeding  or  dying.  I  feel  it — I 
know  it !  O  Tascar  ! '  what  shall  we  do  ? ' ' 

But  the  poor  boy  could  give  no  advice  in  this  emer- 
gency. 

Voices  approached,  and  soon  a  stream  of  fugitives  es- 
caping to  the  mountains  began  to  pass  near  where  they 
had  posted  themselves., 

"  Quick,  Tascar  !  "  said  Vera.  "  Let  us  go  to  the  edge 
of  the  path.  You  ask  for  Mr.  Saville,  and  say  you  are 
his  servant.  I  will  hide  within  hearing." 

This  plan  was  at  once  carried  out. 

"  O  God  !  grant  that  he  may  be  among  these  who  have 
survived,"  she  sighed. 

In  response  to  Tascar's  eager  questions,  several  replied 
that  they  had  seen  Saville  during  the  fight,  but  did  not 
know  where  he  was  now. 

The  last  weary  and  wounded  straggler  seemingly  had 
passed,  and  Vera's  hope  was  dying,  when  another  step 
was  heard,  and  a  woman's  voice  was  heard  complaining. 

"  I  hope  poor  Larry's  aloive.  I've  tried  so  long  to  foind 
him,  I've  got  ahint  all  the  rest." 

"  O  Captain  Molly  !  "  began  Tascar. 

' '  Och  !  ye  spalpeen  ;  how  ye  stharted  me.  Me  nerves 
is  all  shuck  up  !  " 

"  But,  hab  you  seen  Mas'r  Saville  ?  " 

"Is  ye  the  little  nig  he  had  a  few  days,  and  thin  sent 
off  in  the  mountings?" 

"  Yeh  ;  and  I  wants  to  find  him  po'ful  bad." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  tell  ye,  I'm  afeard  ye  won't.  God  rest 
his  sowl !  " 

With  a  wild  cry,  Vera  sprang  out,  and  grasped  the 
woman's  arm. 


272  NEAR  TO  NATURES  HEART 

"  Speak  ;  what  do  you  mean?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Holy  Vargin  !  "  gasped  Molly.  "  I  thought  yees  was 
a  cat  o'  the  mountings.  Be  ye  the  one  they  call  the  white 
witch  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I'm  a  poor,  orphaned  girl ;  and  Mr.  Saville  was 
my  brother — my  only  friend.  Tell  me,  have  you  seen 
him  ? ' ' 

"  Now,  bless  the  poor  young  crather's  heart,  what  kin 
I  tell  her?"  groaned  Molly,  turning  away  and  beginning 
to  sob. 

"  You  have  told  me  all,"  said  Vera,  feeling  as  if  turn- 
ing into  stone.  "  He  is  dead." 

"  I'm  afeard  he  is,  unless  the  saints  has  kept  him  aloive 
for  the  good  turn  he  did  for  sich  a  poor  wicked  divil  as  I 
be.  He  saved  me  life — he  kilt  the  big  Hessian  as  was 
killin'  me — ochone,  ochone !  "  and  Molly,  in  the  exuber- 
ance of  her  feeling,  sat  down,  and  rocking  herself  back 
and  forth,  uttered  a  wild  Irish  wail  of  sorrow. 

Vera's  face  grew  almost  as  rigid  as  the  granite  on  which 
she  stood.  After  a  few  moments  she  said, 

"  You  say  he  saved  your  life  ?  " 

"  He  did,  ochone  !  he  did,  God  rest  his  sowl !  " 

"  If  any  one  had  saved  my  life,"  continued  Vera,  in  a 
tone  that  was  almost  taunting,  "  I  would  not  sit  down  and 
weakly  whine  about  him." 

"  Now  what  do  ye  mane  by  that  ?  "  cried  Molly,  start- 
ing up,  and  dashing  away  her  tears. 

"  I  mean  that  if  he  saved  your  life,  you  ought  to  be 
willing  to  try  to  save  his.  You  are  a  strong  woman,  and 
have  lived  among  soldiers  ;  but  I  will  see  if  you  are  as 
brave  as  a  timid  young  girl.  Will  you  go  with  me,  and 
bring  him  away,  dead  or  alive  ?  " 

"  Faix  an'  I  will,"  cried  Molly  sturdily.  "  I  loikes  this 
betther'n  cryin'  about  him.  Besides,  I  know  jist  where 
to  look  for  him.  It  was  behint  Larry's  gun  he  fell,  and 
I  could  go  there  wid  me  eyes  blinded.  What's  more,  no 


VERA'S  SEARCH  AMONG  THE  DEAD          273 

gal,  nor  man  nayther,  dares  do  what  Molly  O'Flarharty 
darsent." 

But  Captain  Molly's  heroic  fire  was  suddenly  quenched 
for  a  few  moments  ;  for  Vera  threw  herself  upon  her 
neck,  with  sobs  that  caused  the  young  girl's  slight  frame 
to  quiver  almost  convulsively. 

"  Ye  poor  little  tender-hearted  crather,"  said  Molly, 
crying  in  sympathy  ;  "  yees  jist  as  human  as  I  be  ;  and  I, 
like  a  pig-headed  fool,  was  a-thinkin'  ye  was  a  witch  ! 
Yees  isn't  able  to  go  on  any  sich  dare-divil  irrend  as 
snatchin'  a  body  out  o'  the  jaws  of  that  orful  baste  they 
call  the  British  lion." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Vera,  growing  calm.  "  I  shall 
be  the  better  for  these  tears.  I  am,  indeed,  but  a  weak 
child  ;  but  for  Mr.  Saville  I  could  die  a  thousand  deaths. 
Come." 

"Well,"  said  Molly,  with  a  shrug,  "  it's  only  honest  in 
me  to  risk  one  life  for  him,  afther  what  he  did  for  me. 
So  I'm  wid  ye." 

"  You  habbeen  kind  to  my  ole  mudder,"  said  Tascar, 
"  and  I'll  go  wid  you,  too.  Mas'r  Saville  is  po'ful  heavy, 
and'll  take  a  sight  ob  liftin'." 

"  We  must  wait  a  bit,"  said  Molly,  "  till  them  Britishers 
git  the  wounded  gathered  in.  That's  what  they  are  doin' 
now  where  them  lights  is  movin'  "round." 

"  But  they  will  carry  him  off  to  die  somewhere  else," 
cried  Vera,  in  great  distress. 

"  No,  child  ;  if  they  carry  him  off,  the  docthers'll  take 
care  of  him.  So,  if  we  doesn't  find  him  by  the  gun,  ye 
kin  comfort  yer  heart  wid  the  thought  that  he's  doin'  well 
somewhere.  If  we  shud  go  down  there  now,  before  they 
all  git  aslape,  they  wud  treat  us  moighty  oncivil." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Vera.  "  But  it  is  desperately 
hard  to  wait." 

"  We  hain't  ready  to  go  yit,"  continued  Molly.  "We 
must  thry  to  rig  up  sumthin'  to  carry  him  on,  or  else  I'll 


274  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

have  to  stale  a  stretcher  down  there,  and  that  may  be 
risky." 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Vera,  catching  the 
thought  quick  as  light.  "  WithTascar's  help,  I  can  soon 
make  one.  Tascar,  cut  two  long  straight  poles." 

While  the  boy  was  obeying,  Vera  drew  her  hunting- 
knife,  and  feeling  around  among  the  copse-wood,  selected 
tough  and  very  slender  young  saplings.  Having  secured 
a  sufficient  number,  she  twisted  them  back  and  forth 
across  the  poles,  and  secured  them  in  their  places  with 
some  fibrous  bark,  which  she  was  not  long  in  discovering. 
Never  did  her  thorough  wood-craft  serve  a  better  purpose 
than  in  this  emergency. 

"Ye're  a  moighty  handy  little  thing,"  said  Molly. 
"  When  did  ye  learn  all  these  things  ?  " 

"  My  heart  would  teach  my  hands  to  do  anything  that 
is  needful  to-night.  Can  we  not  go  now  ?  " 

"  Not  jist  yet.     Sit  down  and  rest  yerself." 

"  As  if  I  could  rest !  Oh  !  do  let  us  go.  It  will  be  a 
comfort  to  get  a  few  inches  nearer.  What  a  wild  night  it 
promises  to  be  !  '  The  bleak  winds  do  sorely  ruffle.' " 

"  All  the  better  for  us !  There'll  not  be  so  many 
abroad.  They're  gittin'  quiet,  an'  I  think  we  may  stale 
up  a  bit  towards  the  place  now.  We've  got  to  take  quite 
a  woide  turn,  anyhow,  to  git  around  the  creek,  for  they'll 
have  guards  at  the  bridges.  I  know  a  place  down  here 
on  the  right,  where  we  kin  git  over." 

The  strangely  assorted  group  now  started  on  their 
most  perilous  adventure,  Molly  leading,  because  familiar 
with  the  region,  and  Tascar  bringing  up  the  rear  with  the 
rude  but  strong  stretcher  which  Vera  had  improvised. 
Molly's  early  years  had  made  her  perfectly  familiar  with 
the  wild  mountain  region  through  which  they  must  find  a 
path,  and  she  threaded  her  way  quite  as  readily  as  Vera 
would  have  done  in  her  own  haunts. 

"  I've  fished  up  and  down  this  creek  often  enough  to 


VERA'S  SEARCH  AMONG  THE  DEAD          275 

know  every  inch  of  it,"  said  Molly,  who  was  now  as 
eager  to  serve  Vera  as  she  had  once  been  to  get  her  into 
trouble,  for  being  so  "  stuck  up  an'  oncivil  loike  ;  " 
and  she  was  not  long  in  leading  her  little  party  to  a 
place  where  the  shallow  stream  could  be  easily  crossed. 
Then  they  ascended  the  further  bank  by  a  slanting  path 
that  led  towards  Fort  Clinton. 

"We  must  git  well  up  on  the  hill,"  said  Molly,  "for 
they  won't  be  a-lookin'  for  anybody  on  the  mounting 
sides,  and  thin  we  kin  crape  intil  the  fort  right  by  Larry's 
gun.  Ochone,  Larry,  me  darlint!  I've  been  kind  o' 
rough  on  ye  sometoimes,  an'  if  we  both  git  through  this 
wild  night's  work,  I'll  thry  to  be  more  aisy  on  ye.  I 
tell  you  what  'tis,  Miss  Brown,  when  ye' re  '  'twixt  the 
divil  an'  the  dape  say,'  as  I've  heerd  some  o'  the  sailor 
sogers  spake,  ye  think  on  ivery  oncivil  thing  ye  iver 
said  or  did.  May  all  the  saints  be  wid  us  !  Faix,  an' 
they  ought  to  be  !  "  she  concluded,  with  sudden  em- 
phasis. "Ain't  we  a  -thryin'  to  do  as  good  a  job  as 
they  iver  did  ?  " 

By  this  time  Molly  had  reached  the  end  of  her  the- 
ology, and  exhausted  her  sentiment  ;  but  her  practical 
energies  and  shrewdness  seemed  inexhaustible.  With 
firm  yet  stealthy  tread,  she  led  them  down  into  the 
neighborhood  of  the  fort,  and  her  familiarity  with  mili- 
tary life  enabled  her  to  suspect  just  where  guards  and 
sentinels  would  be  placed. 

"  Their  fires  show  that  they're  down  towards  the  river, 
loike,"  she  whispered  ;  "  an'  that's  good  for  us,  too.  If 
they  git  afther  us,  we  must  cut  roight  back  on  the  patli 
we  come,  as  no  one  could  foller  it  who  didn't  know  it. 
Now  step  loight,  an'  keep  yer  mouths  shut,  for  we're 
gittin'  ticklish  near." 

Fortunately,  the  early  part  of  the  night  was  so  dark 
that  they  must  have  stumbled  immediately  upon  some 
one  to  be  observed.  As  they  approached  quite  neai 


276  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

the  fort,  they  heard  a  sentinel  walking  his  beat.  As 
his  steps  receded  they  slipped  by,  and  sprang  down  into 
the  ditch  under  the  parapet,  and  then  crouched  a  few 
moments,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe. 

"  Give  me  yer  knife,"  whispered  Molly.  "I've  stuck 
many  a  pig  in  my  day,  an'  I'll  stick  a  Hessian — yes, 
two  or  three  on  'em — afore  they'll  git  sich  a  holt  on  me 
as  that  big  feller  had  as  is  lyin'  dead  over  there." 

Vera  shuddered,  but  complied. 

"Now,"  continued  Molly,  slowly  rising,  "let  me  git 
my  bearin's,  so  we  kin  climb  in  jist  beside  Larry's  gun." 

The  dark  outline  of  the  mountain  soon  satisfied  her 
how  to  proceed,  and  she  said,  "  Come  around  this  way 
a  bit." 

Stumbling,  with  thrills  of  horror,  over  the  dead  that 
lay  in  the  fosse,  Vera  followed.  Suddenly  Molly  whis- 
pered, 

"  Hist,  down  !  " 

Footsteps  approached,  but  died  away  again. 

"  Now  wait  a  bit  where  ye  are.  I  think  this  is  the 
gun,  and  kin  tell  soon  as  I  fale  of  it.  Ah  !  ye  ould 
bulldog,  this  is  ye,  thrue  anuff.  I  made  ye  bite  'em  the 
last  toime,  didn't  I,  ye  good  ould  baste?  " 

Vera  was  at  her  side  instantly,  whispering,  "  Was  it 
here  he  fell?  Oh!  quick,  quick!  I  cannot  endure 
this  suspense  a  moment  longer." 

"  Not  too  fast,  or  we  may  spoil  iverythin'  yit.  I'll 
cloimb  up  this  side  o'  the  gun,  and  ye  on  that  side. 
Let  the  bhoy  bide  down  here  till  we  call  him.  Aisy 
loike,  now,"  she  cautioned,  as  Vera,  with  a  bound,  was 
up  beside  the  cannon.  "  Let  us  look  over  and  listen." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   WOMAN   IN   VERA   AWAKES 

IN  falling,  Saville  was  not  so  stunned  but  that  he  had 
sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  make  the  huge  Hessian 
he  had  killed  a  sort  of  rampart  against  the  thronging 
enemy,  and  the  man  who  had  bayoneted  him  was  carried 
forward  with  the  impetuous  advance  of  the  victors. 
He  was  well  content  to  be  somewhat  trampled,  instead 
of  receiving  another  thrust  which  would  pin  him  to  the 
earth. 

Almost  his  first  thought  was,  "Vera's  dream  comes 
true.  I  am  desperately  wounded,  perhaps  dying  ;  and 
she,  poor  child,  in  sad  truth,  can  never  find  me  here." 

As  the  rush  of  battle  swept  away  elsewhere,  so  that  he 
could  venture  to  move,  he  tried,  by  feeling,  to  learn  the 
nature  of  his  wound,  and  found,  with  a  thrill  of  hope, 
that  a  thick  memorandum-book  in  his  breast-pocket  had 
caused  the  bayonet  to  glance  from  his  vitals  into  his 
shoulder,  inflicting  what  seemed  only  a  flesh  wound. 

He  soon  became  aware,  however,  that  it  was  a  deep 
one,  and  that  he  was  losing  blood  rapidly.  His  main 
hope  now  was,  that  he  might  not  become  unconscious 
before  the  surgeons  gathered  up  the  wounded  ;  and  yet 
he  now  dared  show  no  sign  of  life,  or  assume  any  posi- 
tion that  would  attract  notice  ;  for  the  brutal  Hessian 
soldiery  were  raging  around  the  fort,  often  striking  down 
the  wounded  who  begged  for  mercy  ;  so  he  turned  over 
upon  his  face,  and  thus  passed  for  one  of  the  dead. 
When  it  became  evident  to  the  British  officers  that  all 
resistance  was  over,  they  called  off  the  "dogs  of  war," 
and  soon  none  were  left  near  Saville  except  those  as 


278  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

helpless  as  himself.  He  now  ventured  to  turn  over 
again,  and  then  tried  to  sit  up,  but  found  himself  too 
weak. 

Not  far  away,  he  heard  a  wounded  man  repeating  to 
himself  the  text  the  chaplain  had  chosen  the  previous 
evening : 

"  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life  ;  he  that  believeth 
in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live: 

"And  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall 
never  die." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  "  thought  Saville  ;  "  believing  that,  he 
can  die  easily,  and,  after  ceasing  to  be,  can  have  no 
disappointment  over  his  illusion.  And  yet,  situated  as 
we  are,  one  might  well  wish  that  it  were  all  true.  Oh  ! 
that  a  surgeon  would  come." 

The  surgeon  was  coming,  but  his  blood  and  strength 
were  ebbing  fast.  In  the  fierce  excitement  of  the  day, 
he  had  eaten  scarcely  anything  ;  and  this  abstinence, 
together  with  his  previous  night  of  toil  and  the  loss  of 
blood,  made  a  fearful  drain  upon  his  vital  powers. 
When,  a  little  later,  the  light  of  a  lantern  was  carelessly 
flashed  upon  his  pallid  face,  the  man  who  held  it  mut- 
tered, "  He's  done  for,"  and  passed  on  to  those  giving 
signs  of  life. 

The  deep  swoon  lasted  while  his  wife's  lover  feasted  his 
murderous  eyes  upon  him. 

Had  Vera's  prayers  received  no  answer?  Why  had 
he  seemed  like  the  dead,  when  a  man  stood  over  him 
who  would  have  stamped  out  the  faintest  apparent  spark 
of  life  ?  Why  does  he  revive  again,  now  that  Vera  is 
stealing  towards  the  fort  ? 

Slowly  he  became  conscious  of  what  had  happened,  of 
his  desperate  situation.  He  felt  that  the  deep  sighs  that 
heaved  his  breast  caused  the  slight  remnant  of  his  blood 
to  ooze  more  rapidly.  He  was  now  sure  that  he  would 
die. 


THE  WOMAN  IN  VEBA  AWAKES  279 

"  Poor  mother  !  "  he  groaned.  "  Dear,  kind  mother  ! 
you  will  have  a  dreary  old  age." 

A  light  step  was  gliding  swiftly  towards  him. 

"O  Vera  !  "  he  murmured  ;  "my  more  than  sister, 
my  heart's  true  mate !  How  can  I  enter  on  my  long, 
dreamless  sleep,  and  leave  you  waking  and  suffering  ?  ' ' 

She  knelt  beside  him,  sobbing. 

"  Theron,  I  have  found  you  !     Thank  God  !  " 

"  Is  this  real  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  It  is — feel  my  warm  hand;  it's  strong  as  a  man's 
to  rescue  you  !  There  are  others  here  to  help.  Courage  ! 
O  God  !  spare  him,  spare  him,  or  let  me  die  also !  " 

"  Hist,  aisy  now,"  warned  Molly.  "  Kape  all  yees 
perty  sayin's  till  we're  out  o'  this  divil's  nest  o'  Hessians. 
Give  him  some  brandy,  while  I  call  the  bhoy  wid  the 
sthretcher." 

As  Vera  put  the  flask  to  his  lips,  she  whispered, 

"You  will  live;  you  will  not  die,  and  break  my 
heart  ?  " 

"  If  mind  has  any  power  over  matter,  I  wz'//live,"  he 
said  doggedly,  "  and  more  for  your  sake  than  my  own. 
From  henceforth  my  life  is  yours,  my  peerless  Vera. 
How,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  have  you  reached  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  speak  now.  Save  every  atom  of  strength. 
Lay  the  stretcher  here,  Tascar.  Lift  him  gently  now  with 
me."  And,  as  if  endowed  with  tenfold  her  usual  power, 
she  put  her  arms  under  his  shoulders,  and  lifted  him  on 
the  green  boughs  that  she  had  twined  for  the  purpose. 

"You  are  an  angel  of  mercy,"  said  Saville. 

"Hush!     Now,  Molly!  " 

"Git  out  o'  the  way,  ye  bloody  spalpeen!  "  snarled 
Molly,  giving  the  poor  Hessian  whom  Saville  had  slain  a 
contemptuous  push  with  her  foot.  "  I'm  glad  ye  got  yer 
desarts." 

With  some  difficulty  they  made  their  way  over  the 
parapet  and  fosse  with  their  burden,  and  then  started 


280  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

rapidly  for  the  hills.     When  a  little  beyond  the  sentinel, 
Tascar  stepped  on  a  dry  stick,  which  cracked  sharply. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  challenged  the  sentinel  instantly. 

"  Whist !  let  the  stretcher  down  a  minute.  If  he  comes 
to  see,  I'll  fix  him  ;  "  and  she  went  back  a  few  feet,  and 
crouched  like  a  panther  at  the  side  of  the  path. 

As  there  were  no  further  sounds,  the  man  evidently 
thought  that  it  was  some  animal  in  the  woods,  and  con- 
tinued walking  his  beat. 

With  throbbing  hearts  and  stealthy  tread,  they  again 
pressed  on,  Molly  following,  with  the  hunting-knife,  as  a 
sort  of  rear-guard ;  and  they  soon  breathed  freer,  with  a 
growing  sense  of  security. 

"  Let  me  spell  ye  now,"  said  Molly  to  Vera.  "  I've 
got  a  stronger  back,  if  not  a  stouther  heart,  than  yees." 

They  were  not  very  long  in  reaching  the  place  where 
the  ax,  provisions,  and  material  for  kindling  a  fire  had 
been  left.  Vera  took  up  these,  and  for  an  hour  they 
toiled  on,  with  frequent  rests.  Saville  often  essayed  to 
speak,  but  Vera  enjoined  silence,  and,  when  he  grew 
faint,  she  put  the  flask  to  his  lips. 

At  last  they  found  a  secluded  place,  quite  out  of  the 
course  that  any  of  the  fugitives  would  take,  and  hidden 
from  the  enemy  in  the  forts  by  intervening  hills.  A  brook 
ran  near,  and  Saville' s  thirst  was  growing  very  painful. 
Vera  thought  they  might  venture  to  rest  here,  and  kindle 
a  fire.  They  were  all  desperately  weary,  and  in  need  of 
food.  Saville,  also,  was  growing  so  weak  that  he  might 
again  become  unconscious.  Vera  asked  Molly  to  help 
Tascar  gather  dry  wood,  saying  that  she  would  wait  on 
Mr.  Saville,  for  she  esteemed  this  so  great  a  privilege  that 
she  was  unwilling  to  share  it. 

"  Never  was  there  such  music,  excepting  your  voice, 
Vera,  as  the  babble  of  that  brook,"  said  Saville  feebly. 
"  I  have  heard  of  the  thirst  of  the  wounded,  but  did  not 
know  what  it  was  before." 


THE  WOMAN  IN  VERA  A  WAKES  281 

Taking  a  cup  from  the  bundle  she  had  carried  Vera 
soon  placed  a  cool  draught  to  his  lips.  He  held  her  hand, 
as  he  drarrk  eagerly. 

"  Oil  !  that  gives  me  life,"  he  said.  "  Did  you  mutter 
any  potent  words  over  this  cup?  " 

"  My  every  breath  is  a  prayer  for  you,"  she  said. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  answering  your  own 
prayers,  my  sweet  divinity.  I  shall  worship  you  while  I 
have  breath  to  pray  or  praise." 

"  Your  mind  is  wandering,  Mr.  Saville." 

"  Never  from  you." 

"  Hush  !  you  must  not  talk." 

"  Like  all  other  devotees,  I  find  it  easier  to  worship  than 
to  obey." 

"  Please  don't  speak  in  this  manner,  Mr.  Saville.  I 
am  so  grateful  to  God  for  having  spared  you  that  your 
words  pain  me." 

"  And  I  am  so  grateful  to  you  that  I  can  scarcely  find 
words  that  mean  enough.  May  I  live  to  show  you  how  I 
feel !  Do  not  call  me  Mr.  Saville  any  more." 

"  Do  you  not  think  I  had  better  try  to  dress  your  wound 
by  the  light  of  the  fire,  Theron?  " 

"  Yes,  do  ;  your  very  touch  is  healing." 

She  took  out  her  bandages,  and  bade  Tascar  heap  light 
wood  on  the  fire.  Then,  laying  her  sharp  hunting-knife 
within  reach,  she  set  about  her  delicate  and  difficult  task. 
But  her  beautiful  face,  as  she  bent  over  him,  revealed  only 
the  deepest  solicitude  for  him,  and  not  a  particle  of  embar- 
rassing self-consciousness.  She  first  took  from  his  pocket 
the  torn  and  deeply  indented  little  memorandum-book. 

"  Theron,"  she  exclaimed,  "  this  saved  your  life  !  " 

"I  think  it  did.  It  was  fortunate  that  it  was  in  that 
pocket  instead  of  the  other." 

"  Fortunate  !  Oh  !  why  do  you  use  such  meaningless 
words  ?  It  was  so  much  more  than  fortunate  !  Will  you 
give  the  book  to  me  ?  " 


282  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"Yes." 

She  pressed  her  lips  upon  it,  and  hid  it  in  her  bosom. 

Then  Molly  and  Tascar  were  surprised  to  hear  Saville's 
audible  laugh,  but  tears  were  in  Vera's  eyes. 

"  Alack!  "  she  sighed,  dashing  them  away  ;  "  I  am  a 
foolish  child,  and  not  equal  to  this  work.  I  must  cut  your 
coat,  Theron." 

"  Yes,"  said  he  ;  "  pass  your  knife  up  my  sleeve  ;  cut 
all  away  around  my  throat.  It  will  not  do  for  me  to  move 
much.  I  can  direct  you  somewhat,  for  I  know  a  little  of 
surgery.  On  entering  the  service  I  foresaw  wounds,  but 
no  such  blissful  experience  as  this." 

"  Only  speak  in  directing  me,"  said  Vera,  deftly  doing 
his  bidding.  "Oh!  what  an  awful  gash!  "  and  for  a 
moment  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  I  tell  you  I  am  going  to  live,  Vera.  I  feel  it  in  every 
nerve  and  fibre  of  my  body.  How  does  the  cut  run  ?  " 

"Across  the  upper  part  of  your  breast,  into  your 
shoulder. ' ' 

"  You  see  it  is  a  flesh  wound  merely.  Remove  only  the 
clots  of  blood  that  prevent  you  from  pressing  the  sides  of 
the  cut  together.  Now  bandage  as  tightly  as  you  can 
around  my  shoulder.  There,  that  is  right.  How  in- 
finitely different  your  touch  is  from  that  of  a  half-drunk 
British  surgeon  !  Suppose  that  in  your  place,  my  dainty 
Ariel,  my  ministering  spirit,  a  broad-faced  Hessian  butcher 
were  bending  over  me,  bungling  away  with  fingers  as  hard 
as  his  heart!  That  will  do.  Now  cover  all  up  well,  so 
there  may  be  no  danger  of  my  taking  cold,  and  then  rest 
yourself. ' ' 

"  I  will  rest  when  you  are  out  of  danger.  You  must 
take  some  food  now." 

"  Not  much.     We  must  run  no  risk  of  inflammation." 

Again  she  brought  water  from  the  brook,  and  dipping 
the  hard,  dry  bread  into  it,  fed  him  as  she  would  a  child. 
She  saw  that  his  head  did  not  rest  comfortably,  and  so 


THE  WOMAN  IN  VERA  AWAKES  283 

she  lifted  it  gently  into  her  lap.  But,  as  she  did  so,  there 
came  a  wanner  glow  into  her  face  than  the  ruddy  fire- 
light warranted. 

"  I  will  waken  you,"  she  said,  "  when  it  is  time  to  re- 
sume our  journey  home." 

"  Home  !  How  sweet  that  word  sounds,  as  you  speak 
it!" 

"  Hush!   hush!  " 

"  Well,  then,  good-night,  Vera.  This  is  not  the  dream- 
less sleep  that  I  was  dreading  in  Fort  Clinton."  And 
almost  instantly  he  sank  into  quiet  slumber. 

Molly  and  Tascar,  as  soon  as  they  found  that  they 
could  do  nothing  more  to  serve  Vera,  had  thrown  them- 
selves down  by  the  fire,  and  were  soon  in  deep  oblivion. 
But  the  young  girl,  with  eyes  as  clear  and  steady  as  the 
stars  which  now  shone  brightly,  watched  through  the 
silent  hours. 

She  had  never  had  less  inclination  to  sleep.  There  was 
a  strange,  delicious  tumult  in  her  heart.  She  thought  it 
was  gladness  and  gratitude  for  Saville's  escape.  She 
thought  it  was  hope  for  the  future.  She  would  under- 
stand, by  and  by,  that  it  was  far  more.  A  hand  was  on 
the  door  of  the  inner  chamber  of  her  heart.  Its  silence 
was  broken  by  a  voice  whose  echoes  would  never  cease. 
During  the  agony,  the  fear,  the  awful  suspense,  of  that 
eventful  day,  Vera  had  ceased  to  be  a  child,  and  had 
become  a  woman — strong  to  act  and  to  suffer.  And  now 
that  the  man,  on  whom  she  had  leaned  as  might  a  younger 
sister,  and  whom  she  regarded  as  a  superior  being,  far 
beyond  and  above  her,  had  become  utterly  helpless — 
dependent  on  her  for  existence — woman-like,  she  began 
to  love  him  as  only  a  woman  could  love,  and  with  the 
same  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  and  self-forgetfulness  which 
had  been  the  characteristic  of  her  mother. 

Innocent  love  is  happiness  ;  it  brings  its  own  reward  ; 
and  the  more  unselfish  it  is,  the  more  profoundly  it  satisfies. 


284  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

The  world  began  to  grow  more  beautiful  to  Vera,  even 
on  that  chill  autumn  night,  and  the  sounds  of  nature  to 
make  sweet  chords  with  the  new  and  mysterious  impulses 
of  her  heart.  The  brook  sang  to  her  as  of  old,  when  she 
was  a  child  ;  but  now  with  richer,  deeper  meanings  ;  the 
chirp  of  the  crickets  seemed  cheery  and  companionable  ; 
the  light  of  the  stars  grew  kindly  and  sympathetic.  A 
stag,  attracted  by  the  fire,  came  and  stood  in  the  outer 
circle  of  light,  and  gazed  at  her  a  moment  with  his  large, 
wistful,  questioning  eyes.  With  something  of  her  old 
mirthfulness,  she  shook  her  finger  at  him,  as  if  he  were 
an  unruly  child,  that  might  disturb  the  sleeper  over  whom 
she  was  watching,  and  the  timid  creature  bounded 
away. 

The  hours  passed  swiftly,  with  strange,  happy  thoughts 
and  fancies  flashing  up  in  her  mind,  as  little  understood 
as  the  mysterious  aurora  that  was  illuminating  the  north- 
ern sky. 

The  young  girl  was  consciously  puzzled  by  the  fact 
that  she  was  beginning  to  look  forward  to  Saville's 
awakening  with  something  like  shyness  and  embarrass- 
ment ;  her  heart  fluttered  at  the  very  thought.  Hereto- 
fore, she  had  lifted  her  eyes  and  face  to  his  with  no  more 
self-consciousness  than  that  of  a  flower  opening  to  the 
morning  sun.  And  yet,  that  which  she  half  dreaded  she 
anticipated  with  a  new  and  vague  delight. 

Her  finger  often  sought  his  pulse,  and  her  confidence  in  - 
creased,  as  she  found  that  it  was  quiet  and  even,  though 
feeble. 

As  dawn  began  to  tinge  the  eastern  horizon,  he  seemed 
to  grow  uneasy.  His  brow  contracted  heavily,  and, 
bending  down,  she  heard  him  mutter, 

"  Stand  aside  ;  your  power  to  curse  my  life  has  gone." 

Then,  after  a  little,  his  face  became  calm  and  quiet  for 
a  while.  But  soon  another  painful  dream  disturbed  him, 
and  from  broken  words  and  sentences  it  was  evident  that 


THE  WOMAN  IN  VEBA  A  WAKES  285 

he  was  living  over  the  terrible  scenes  in  Fort  Clinton. 
Suddenly  he  said,  quite  plainly, 

"  Vera,  my  heart's  true  mate,  how  can  I  leave " 

and  he  started  up,  and  looked  wildly  around  for  a 
moment. 

"  Theron,"  said  Vera  gently,  "  it's  only  a  dream  ;  and 
dreams,  you  told  me,  '  go  by  contraries.'  ' 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly  a  moment,  and  then  asked, 
"  What  has  happened?  " 

"  I  dreamed  that  you  would  be  wounded,  and  alas!  it 
came  true.  I  also  dreamed  that  I  could  not  find  you  ;  but, 
thank  God  !  the  contrary  was  true." 

"Oh,  yes  ;  it  all  comes  back  to  me  now.  You  found 
me  dying  in  the  fort." 

"  But  you  promised  to  live,"  said  Vera,  with  a  sudden 
chill  of  fear. 

"  Did  I  ?  My  head  is  confused.  Will  you  please  give 
me  a  little  water  ?  ' ' 

Trembling  with  apprehension,  she  hastened  to  the 
stream,  and  returned  with  the  cool  and  refreshing  water. 
This  awakening  was  so  different  from  what  she  ex- 
pected. 

After  taking  the  water  he  seemed  better,  and  his  eyes 
sought  hers  wistfully  and  questioningly. 

"  I  am  very  weak,"  he  said  ;  "  you  must  be  patient 
with  me." 

"  O  Theron  !  live  !  live  !  that  is  all  I  ask  !  " 

"  I  feel  that  I  shall,  Vera  ;  but  it  may  be  long  before  I 
am  well.  You  were  holding  my  head  when  I  awoke." 

"Let  me  support  it  again,"  she  said  blushing,  and  she 
lifted  his  head  into  her  lap. 

"  I  want  to  see  your  face." 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered  hastily  ;  "  look  at  the  beauti- 
ful dawn  yonder." 

"  Your  face  is  to  me  more  beautiful  and  more  full  of 
hope  than  the  morning.  Are  you  sure  that  you  are  well  ? 


286  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

I  have  had  such  painful  dreams.  Please  let  me  see  you 
and  reassure  myself." 

She  moved  so  as  to  comply  with  his  wish,  and  as  he 
fixed  his  eyes  eagerly  upon  her  face,  it  drooped,  and  a 
warmer  light  stole  into  it  than  glowed  in  the  eastern  sky. 

"  I  do  see  the  dawn  in  your  face,"  he  said,  "  and  it 
grows  more  lovely  every  moment.  Have  you  been 
watching  over  me  all  the  long  night?  " 

"It  has  not  seemed  long,"  she  faltered. 

• '  Vera  !  ' ' 

She  raised  her  eyes  timidly  to  his,  but  they  soon  fell 
again  before  his  ardent  gaze. 

"  Vera,  your  face  contains  the  true  elixir  of  life,  I  shall 
get  well,  never  fear  !  " 

"  O  Theron  !  I  am  so  glad — so  very  happy.  But  if  you 
cannot  sleep  any  more,  had  we  not  better  try  to  get 
home  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  in  a  voice  of  deep  content ;  "  take 
me  home." 

She  was  glad  to  escape.  Arousing  Tascar  and  Molly, 
they  were  soon  on  their  way  to  the  secluded  mountain 
gorge,  in  which  was  the  rude  cabin,  which,  to  Saville, 
promised  to  be  a  haven  of  rest  such  as  he  had  never 
known  before. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME 

AFTER  a  toilsome,  difficult  journey,  during  which 
Saville's  wound  became  very  painful,  they  reached  the 
cabin.  Old  Gula  met  them  with  a  scared  expression  on 
her  wrinkled  face,  but  was  overjoyed  at  finding  Tascar 
and  Vera  safe. 

"  I'se  had  an  orful  time,"  she  said.  "Strange,  loud 
voices,  speakin'  among  de  hills,  an'  I  didn't  know  what 
dey  mean.  Den  Mas'r  Brown  come  home  wild  and 
drefful,  a-cryin'  dat  all  was  lost.  Den  he  sat  a  long  time 
like  a  stun.  All  on  a  sudden  he  ask,  '  Whare's  Vera?' 
I  telled  him  dat  you  took  Tascar,  and  went  away  yester- 
day mornin'.  And  he  began  to  go  on  orfully  agin,  and 
took  de  big  gun  and  went  arteryou." 

"  Well,"  said  Vera,  with  a  sigh,  "  if  he  does  not  come 
soon,  I  will  try  to  find  him.  Mr.  Saville  has  been  badly 
wounded,  and  we  must  all  do  our  best  for  him.  You  get 
us  some  breakfast.  Tascar,  make  a  fire  on  the  hearth  in 
the  cabin,  and  then  help  your  mother.  Molly,  will  you 
help  me  carry  Mr.  Saville  in?  " 

They  laid  him  down  on  the  cabin  floor,  and  Vera 
brought  a  pillow,  saying,  as  she  placed  it  under  his  head, 
"  You  are  at  home,  Theron,"  and  was  well  rewarded  by 
his  contented  smile. 

One  end  of  the  cabin  had  been  partitioned  off  into  two 
apartments.  In  one  of  these  a  couch  was  prepared  for 
Saville  ;  but,  as  they  were  about  to  carry  him  thither,  Mr. 
Brown  entered  in  strong  excitement,  exclaiming, 

"  Great  God  !  Vera.     What  does  this  mean  ?  " 


288  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Hush,  father  !  " 

"  Are  you  bent  on  my  destruction  ?  Why  have  you 
brought  this  strange  woman  here  ? ' ' 

"  I'm  not  so  moighty  strange,"  snapped  Molly. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Saville,  in  his  old,  significant  tone. 

The  exile  turned  tremblingly  to  him. 

"You  are  safe,  as  I  told  you,  just  as  long  as  you  do 
exactly  as  I  direct.  Sit  down  there  and  rest,  and  all  will 
be  well." 

The  man  obeyed,  but  was  evidently  dissatisfied,  and 
under  great  perturbation. 

Before  the  day  was  over,  both  Vera  and  Saville  were 
satisfied  that  the  services  of  a  surgeon  would  be  required. 
Molly  was  anxious  to  depart,  that  she  might  find  her 
husband,  Larry.  Vera  therefore  decided,  without  con- 
sulting her  father,  to  send  Tascar  with  her  across  the 
mountains  to  New  Windsor.  Molly  thought  that  all  who 
had  escaped  from  the  forts  would  probably  be  in  that 
region,  and  said  that  she  knew  the  way  well,  after  she  got 
down  near  to  the  river ;  so  it  was  arranged  that  they 
should  go  early  the  next  morning. 

Saville  slept  a  great  deal  of  the  time,  and  seemed 
strengthened  by  the  nourishing  broth  which  Gula  made 
for  him.  His  deep  content,  and  the  anticipation  of 
Vera's  society  and  care,  did  more  than  anything  else  to 
forward  recovery. 

The  next  morning,  Molly  and  Tascar  departed.  Vera 
accompanied  them,  and  directed  the  boy  to  blaze  the 
trees  until  the  path  became  plain.  Molly  did  not  tell 
Vera  that  she  had  learned  from  her  husband  a  great 
deal  about  Saville's  previous  life,  nor  did  she  hint  that 
he  had  a  wife  living  in  New  York.  The  redoubtable 
"captain's"  ideas  concerning  morals  were  rather  con- 
fused, at  best ;  but,  in  this  case,  she  acted  in  accordance 
with  such  light  as  she  had,  and  her  reasoning  was  simple, 
if  not  correct.  Saville  had  saved  her  life  ;  and,  whether 


VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME  289 

he  was  right  or  wrong,  she  was  in  honor  bound  not  to- 
put  a  straw  in  his  way  ;  and,  from  what  Larry  had  told 
her  about  Saville's  wife,  she  felt  that  no  one  had  a  truer 
right  than  he  to  find  a  better  one. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  following  day  Tascar  re- 
turned, and,  to  Vera's  great  joy,  was  accompanied  by 
her  old  acquaintance,  Surgeon  Jasper.  He  pronounced 
Saville's  wound  severe,  but  not  dangerous,  if  he  had 
good  care  and  nursing  ;  "  and  that,  I  know,  he  will  get," 
he  added,  with  a  glance  that  brought  the  rich  color  into 
Vera's  face,  which,  for  some  reason  that  she  could  not 
understand,  was  now  so  ready  to  come  and  go. 

"  I  am  here,  prepared  to  stay  a  few  days,"  said  the 
kind  surgeon  ;  "  and  when  I  leave,  good  living  and 
sleep  will  be  all  that  are  needed,  I  think." 

"How  can  I  repay  you?"  exclaimed  Vera,  taking 
his  hand. 

"No  occasion  for  thanks,"  was  the  brusque  reply. 
"  This  is  my  business,  and  we  can't  afford  to  lose  such 
good  soldiers  as  Saville." 

Her  father  chafed  greatly,  at  first,  when  he  found  that 
another  stranger  had  learned  of  his  hiding-place,  but 
the  man  was  so  genial  and  frank,  and  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  at  the  bedside  of  Vera's  mother  partially  rec- 
onciled the  exile  to  his  presence.  The  surgeon,  also, 
raised  his  hopes  that  the  American  cause  was  not  hope- 
lessly lost,  as  he  had  believed  on  the  capture  of  the  forts. 

Under  skilled  treatment,  Saville's  wound  healed  rap- 
idly, and  he  was  soon  able  to  sit  up  before  the  fire  on 
the  ample  hearth  of  the  cabin.  The  genial  surgeon 
was  the  life  of  the  party  during  the  long  autumn  even- 
ings, and  to  Vera  these  hours  were  ever  remembered  as 
among  the  happiest  of  her  life. 

Whenever  it  was  possible,  she  found  Saville's  eyes 
following  her  with  an  expression  that  warmed  her  very 
soul ;  but  she,  in  her  innocence,  imagined  that  his  rapid 


290  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

recovery  was  the  cause  of  the  springs  of  joy  welling  up 
in  her  heart. 

But,  as  Saville  grew  stronger,  he  often  fell  into  gloomy 
fits  of  musing,  which  perplexed  and  distressed  her.  She 
also  noted  a  troubled  expression  on  the  surgeon's  face, 
as  some  little  act  on  the  part  of  Saville  suggested  that 
his  feelings  were  warmer  than  gratitude  or  friendship 
inspired. 

Jasper  knew  that  Saville  had  a  wife,  and,  moreover, 
that  she  was  a  wife  only  in  name.  He  felt  that  Vera 
was  too  fine  a  girl  to  be  trifled  with  ;  but  as  she  was 
situated,  the  man  to  whom  she  had  unconsciously  given 
her  heart  might  do  more  to  make  than  mar  her  happi- 
ness. At  any  rate,  the  surgeon,  who  was  a  man  of  the 
world,  concluded  that  it  was  not  his  business  to  interfere, 
and  so  at  last  took  his  departure  in  his  wonted  jovial 
manner. 

"  I  suppose  you  won't  thank  me,  Saville,"  he  said, 
"for  taking  you  away  from  this  fairies'  bower;  but  I 
shall  report  to  the  governor  that  you  will  be  fit  for  duty 
in  a  month." 

"  I  shall  not  forget  that  I  am  a  soldier,"  said  the 
young  man,  flushing  ;  "  and  you  may  see  me  in  less 
time." 

After  the  surgeon's  departure,  Saville's  moody  fits  did 
not  cease,  but  rather  increased.  While  he  was  exceed- 
ingly kind  and  gentle,  Vera  saw  that  he  was  passing 
under  some  kind  of  restraint  ;  his  eyes  did  not  seek  hers 
with  the  old,  frank,  ardent  expression  ;  and,  at  times, 
she  observed  him  regarding  her  furtively,  and  with  such 
a  sad,  wistful  look,  that  she  began  to  shed  tears  in 
secret,  though,  with  womanly  instinct,  she  tried  to 
appear  cheerful,  and  blind  to  all  changes  in  him. 

But  when  his  growing  distress  of  mind  began  to  retard 
his  recovery,  she  felt  that  she  could  endure  it  no  longer. 
One  day,  when  he  scarcely  tasted  some  delicate  birds 


VERA'S  ONLY  CHIME  291 

which  she  had  shot  for  him,  she  burst  into  tears,  and 
said, 

"  Theron,  what  is  the  matter?  I  can  shut  my  eyes  to 
the  truth  no  longer.  Something  is  preying  upon  yo:ir 
mind.  You  have  a  deeper  wound  than  that  which  Sur- 
geon Jasper  healed.  For  the  last  few  days,  you  have 
failed,  rather  than  gained,  in  health." 

He  grew  very  pale,  and  did  not  immediately  answer. 

"  I  do  not  ask  to  know  the  cause  of  your  trouble," 
she  continued  ;  "  for  you  would  tell  me  if  you  thought 
best ;  but  I  cannot  endure  to  see  you  suffer.  If  there 
is  anything  that  a  poor,  friendless  young  girl  like  myself 
can  do,  I  pray  you,  speak  plainly.  Believe  me,  I  would 
think  any  self-sacrifice  that  would  serve  you  a  privilege." 

"  Any  sacrifice,  Vera  ?  " 

"  Any,  any  that  you  can  ask,"  she  replied  eagerly. 

But,  looking  into  her  pure,  innocent  face,  and  remem- 
bering how  totally  ignorant  she  was  of  the  world's  harsh 
judgment,  his  own  manhood  rose  up  to  defend  her. 

He  took  both  of  her  hands  in  his,  and  said,  very 
gently,  "  I  believe  you,  my  dearest  sister  ;  you  are  un- 
selfishness itself.  But  no  cruel  self-sacrifice  on  your  part 
would  help  me.  Some  day  I  will  tell  you  what  is 
troubling  me.  I  cannot  now.  The  miserable  and  mis- 
governed world,  of  which  you  know  so  little,  often 
brings  to  those  who  must  be  out  in  it  many  hard  prob- 
lems to  solve.  Rest  assured,  if  I  need  your  help,  I  will 
ask  it,  and  would  rather  have  it  than  that  of  any  other 
living  being.  Now  take  your  gun,  and  get  me  some 
more  birds,  and  at  supper  I  will  try  to  do  better." 

She  saw  that  he  wished  to  be  alone,  and  so,  sorely  per- 
plexed and  heavy-hearted,  she  complied. 

After  she  was  gone,  Saville  grappled  with  the  strongest 
temptation  which  life  had  yet  brought  him.  In  the  eye 
of  the  law,  he  had  a  wife,  and  could  not  marry  Vera, 
and  yet  he  loved  her  with  the  whole  intensity  of  his  nature. 


292  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

From  the  hour,  also,  when  she  blushed  under  his 
searching  glance  in  the  early  dawn,  at  the  time  of  their 
bivouac  in  the  mountains,  he  had  thought  she  was 
learning  to  give  him  a  warmer  affection  than  that  of  a 
sister.  In  his  weakness  and  inability  to  think  connect- 
edly, this  hope  had  filled  him  with  a  sort  of  delirium  of 
happiness  ;  but  he  had  soon  commenced  asking  himself 
how  this  mutual  regard  must  end. 

With  his  French  education,  and  as  an  honest  adher- 
ent to  the  creed  that  the  impulses  of  nature  should  be 
man's  only  law,  he  required  no  priestly  sanction  to  his 
love  ;  but  could  have  said  to  Vera,  in  all  sincerity,  "  My 
heart  claims  you  ;  my  reason  approves  the  choice.  I 
cannot  help  my  past  folly,  but  know  that  I  am  act- 
ing wisely  now.  I  will  ever  be  your  true  lover.  I 
will  be  such  a  husband  as  love  can  make  me,  and 
such  as  mere  form  and  law  cannot." 

While  all  this  was  true,  he  also  clearly  saw  that  Vera 
in  remembrance  of  her  mother's  teaching  and  example, 
and  with  her  faith  in  the  Bible,  and  in  the  Being  whose 
will  she  believed  that  book  revealed,  would  not  look 
upon  any  such  relation  in  the  light  in  which  it  appeared 
to  him.  Although  the  young  girl  had  proved  her 
readiness  to  sacrifice  her  life  for  him,  there  had  always 
been  something  in  her  words  and  manner  which  led 
him  to  doubt  greatly  whether  he  could  induce  her  to 
violate  her  conscience,  even  though  that  which  he 
asked  seemed  perfectly  right  to  him. 

In  justice  to  Saville,  it  should  be  said,  that  though  he 
regarded  her  faith  as  an  utter  delusion,  he  would 
not  wish  her  to  do  anything  which  she  thought  wrong  • 
and,  although  he  could  honestly  declare  his  love,  he 
felt  that  it  would  be  a  base  thing  to  ask  her  to  reward  it, 
since  she  could  not  do  so  without  great  moral  wrong  to 
herself. 

There  were,  besides,  other  very  important  considera- 


VERA'S  ONLY  CRIME  293 

tions.  He  had  always  promised  Vera,  and  had  sincerely 
proposed  to  secure  for  her,  a  recognized  and  respected 
place  in  society.  If  she  listened  to  his  suit,  this  would  be 
impossible. 

She  was  defenseless,  friendless,  more  than  orphaned. 
She  trusted  him  implicitly,  and,  as  a  man  of  honor,  he 
found  that  he  could  come  to  but  one  conclusion.  He  must 
be  true  to  her  interests,  at  any  and  every  cost  to  himself. 

"  Am  I  equal  to  this?  "  he  groaned,  and  he  strode  up 
and  down  the  little  cabin  in  such  agony ,  that  great  beaded 
drops  came  out  upon  his  forehead. 

At  last  he  sat  down,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
while  his  mind  went  rapidly  over  the  past.  In  imagi- 
nation, he  saw  the  timid  maiden  venturing  down  into  the 
dark  fort,  where  on  every  side  a  fate  worse  than  death 
threatened,  that  she  might  rescue  him. 

"  I  am  a  base  wretch  to  hesitate,"  he  cried  ;  "  but  would 
that  I  had  died  there,  rather  than  have  lived  to  suffer 
this  !  She  shall  not  surpass  me  in  self-sacrifice,  however. 
I  will  place  her  as  high  in  society  as  a  brother's  love  can 
raise  her,  and  then,  if  the  burden  grows  too  heavy,  I  can 
soon  enter  on  the  dreamless  sleep  from  which  she  recalled 
me.  O  hating  and  hateful  wife  !  even  your  malignity 
would  be  satisfied  if  you  could  see  me  now." 

Vera  returned  empty-handed.  "  My  hand  trembled  so 
that  I  could  not  shoot,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very  sorry." 

"  Never  mind,  little  sister  ;  I  am  better  now,  and  do 
not  need  anything,"  he  said  soothingly,  for  he  saw  that 
her  heart  was  full. 

"  Better !  "  she  cried,  with  tears  starting  to  her  eyes. 
"  You  are  but  the  ghost  of  your  old  self.  I  never  saw 
you  so  pale,  and  you  look  years  older  than  when  I  left 
you  an  hour  ago." 

"You  are  tired  and  depressed,  Vera.  Come  and  sit 
down  by  me  on  your  low  bench,  and  see  if  I  cannot  cheer 
you." 


294  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

She  gave  him  a  wistful,  questioning  look,  which  he 
found  it  hard  to  meet. 

Making  a  strong  effort  at  self-control,  she  complied  with 
his  wish,  and  for  a  few  moments  neither  spoke.  Again 
and  again  she  would  look  at  him,  with  the  same  childlike, 
questioning  manner. 

"  What  is  it,  little  sister  ?  "  he  at  last  asked. 

For  some  reason,  this  term,  which  had  once  seemed  so 
sweet  and  endearing,  but  which  of  late  he  had  seldom  em- 
ployed, now  chilled  her  heart  with  fear.  His  face,  though 
very  kind,  had  a  strong,  resolved  expression.  She  felt 
as  if  a  viewless  but  impassable  barrier  were  growing  up 
between  them.  While  at  her  side,  and  holding  her  hand, 
he  still  seemed  far  off  and  receding.  He  called  her  his 
"  dear  little  sister,"  and  yet  she  would  rather  that  he 
should  say  simply,  Vera,  in  the  tone  in  which  he  had 
spoken  her  name,  when,  after  her  night's  watch,  she  had 
raised  her  downcast  eyes  to  his.  She  neither  understood 
herself  nor  him,  but  her  heart  craved  for  more  than  mere 
brotherly  affection  ;  and  now  that  he  sought  to  manifest 
only  this,  he  rudely  jarred  the  deepest  and  most  sensitive 
chord  of  her  being.  When  he  again  asked,  in  a  gentle, 
soothing  tone,  as  he  might  speak  to  a  child,  "  Tell  me 
what  troubles  you,  sister  Vera.  Speak  as  frankly  as  if  I 
were  indeed  your  brother,"  she  bowed  her  head  upon 
his  knee,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter,"  she  faltered.  "  It 
seems  as  if  you  were  miles  away  from  me,  and  that  some- 
thing dreadful  is  going  to  happen." 

A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  his  face,  for  he  interpreted  her 
feelings  far  better  than  she  could  herself ;  and  he  learned, 
as  never  before,  how  penetrating  a  loving  woman's  intui- 
tions often  are. 

Suddenly  she  asked,  "  Are  you  going  to  leave  me, 
Theron?" 

He  had  about  decided  to  tell  her  the  whole  truth,  and 


VESA'S  ONLY  CRIME  295 

show  the  necessity  of  his  course,  when  her  father  entered 
the  cabin.  Before  doing  so,  he  had  marked  his  daughter's 
attitude  and  distress,  also  Saville's  caresses  as  he  stroked 
her  bowed  head.  He  said  nothing,  however,  but  sat 
down  in  his  accustomed  place,  with  the  deepest  gloom 
lowering  upon  his  haggard  face. 

Vera  was  about  to  move  hastily  away,  but  Saville  re- 
tained her  at  his  side,  saying, 

"  No,  Vera  ;  no  one  has  a  better  right  here  than  you." 

For  a  little  time  they  all  remained  silent.  Vera  made 
desperate  efforts  to  gain  the  mastery  of  her  feelings, 
though  with  but  partial  success  ;  for  she  felt  that  some 
blow  was  impending,  which  she  could  not  avoid,  and  yet 
from  which  she  shrank  in  sickening  dread. 

At  last  Saville  began,  in  a  quiet,  steady  voice, 

"Mr.  Brown,  I  have  so  far  recovered  from  my  wound 
that  I  ought  soon  to  report  for  duty  again.  I  feel  that  it 
would  be  very  wrong  to  leave  you  here  in  this  remote 
and  lonely  place.  I  tremble  as  I  think  of  what  might 
happen  in  case  of  sickness  or  accident.  Moreover,  the 
country  is  filled  with  lawless,  reckless  men,  as  you  have 
learned,  to  your  sorrow." 

The  exile  sprang  up,  and  commenced  pacing  the  room 
in  great  excitement,  but  Saville  continued  firmly, 

"  You  owe  it  to  Vera  to  place  her  in  a  more  secure  po- 
sition. This  wild  mountain  gorge  is  no  place  for  her. 
She  is  fitted  to  shine  among  the  highest  and  best,  and  I 
think  I  can  say,  without  boasting,  that  I  have  the  in- 
fluence to  place  her  there.  All  that " 

A  harsh,  bitter  laugh  interrupted  him,  and  her  father 
said, 

"  Mr.  Saville,  you  are  unequaled  at  sarcasm." 

The  young  man  rose  and  faced  the  speaker,  and  Vera, 
also,  stood  tremblingly  at  his  side.  "  I  mean  every  word 
I  say.  I  can "  he  began  earnestly. 

"  Mr.   Saville,"    again  interrupted   the   exile,  "  your 


296  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

words  are  worse  than  useless.  It  is  time  you  learned  the 
truth.  For  the  sake  of  the  past,  in  memory  of  what  my 
daughter  braved  in  your  behalf,  you  will  at  least  leave  us 
unmolested,  after  you  learn  who  and  what  we  are. 
Blinded  as  I  am  by  remorse  and  fear,  I  have  still  marked 
your  growing  affection  for  Vera;  and  though  I  am  but 
a  wreck — a  miserable  fragment  of  a  man — I  have  still 
some  sense  of  honor  and  justice  left.  You  are  a  gentle- 
man, sir.  I  knew  that  from  the  first ;  and  it  is  not  right 
that  you  should  associate  with  such  as  we  are  any 
longer." 

"  You  are  talking  wildly,  sir.  You  are  not  yourself," 
Saville  answered  soothingly. 

"  I  am  speaking  terrible  truth,"  continued  the  unhappy 
man.  "  Whatever  else  has  failed  in  me,  memory  has  not, 
and  it  is  my  hourly  and  relentless  scourge.  But  enough 
of  this.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  we  are  outcasts.  A 
curse  is  resting  on  us,  which  must  die  with  us.  This  is 
no  place  for  you,  and  you  will  bear  me  witness,  that  I 
never  sought  to  draw  you  within  the  deadly  shade  of  my 
destiny.  I  have  but  one  favor  to  ask — that  you  leave 
us  to  perish  as  remote  from  human  knowledge  as  pos- 
sible." 

"  I  cannot  do  this,"  cried  Saville,  quite  off  his  guard. 
"  Why  are  you  outcasts?  What  crime  has  this  innocent 
maiden  committed,  that  I  should  heartlessly  leave  her  to 
so  horrible  a  fate  ? ' ' 

"  What  crime  has  she  committed  ?  The  same  as  that 
of  her  poor,  fond  mother,  the  crime  of  belonging  to  me, 
and  of  being  a  part  of  me.  Would  you  ally  yourself— 
would  you  even  associate — with  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  worst  criminals  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ?  " 

With  a  faint  cry,  Vera  fell  to  the  floor,  as  if  struck  down 
by  a  resistless  blow.  Saville  instantly  lifted  her  up,  saying, 

"  Don't  grieve  so,  darling.  He  charges  you  with  no 
fault,  only  misfortune." 


VESA'S  ONLY  CRIME  297 

Her  father  looked  at  him  in  great  surprise  for  a  monjent, 
and  then  said, 

"  Well,  since  you  differ  so  greatly  from  the  rest  of  the 
world,  you  may  take  her  away,  where  her  relation  to  me 
may  never  be  known.  If  she  could  escape  from  under 
the  curse  which  crushed  her  mother,  I  would  esteem  it  a 
boundless  favor.  For  me  there  is  no  hope." 

"Will  you  go  with  me,  Vera  ?  "  asked  Saville  gently, 
pressing  her  closer  to  his  heart. 

"  Go,  Vera,  go,  since  he  is  willing  to  take  you,"  said 
her  father  earnestly.  "  The  thought  that  you  were  safe 
and  happy  would  render  the  miserable  remnant  of  ray  life 
more  endurable." 

Vera's  sobs  ceased  speedily,  and  she  became  very 
quiet.  After  a  moment  or  two,  she  raised  her  head  from 
Saville's  shoulder,  and  said  distinctly, 

"  No,  I  will  not  leave  you.  You  are  my  father,  and 
my  dying  mother  commended  you  to  my  care." 

"  O  God  !  "  exclaimed  her  father,  "  that  I  should  have 
brought  down  the  curse  on  two  such  hearts  !  My  pun- 
ishment is  greater  than  I  can  bear." 

"  Theron,"  continued  Vera,  drawing  away  from  him, 
and  trying  to  steady  herself  in  her  weakness  and  strong 
emotion,  "  the  blow  has  fallen  ;  I  have  felt  it  coming  all 
day.  We  must  indeed  part  ;  there  is  no  help  for  it,  for 
my  duty  is  here.  You  must  leave  us  to  our  fate  ;  for,  as 
father  says,  you  cannot  continue  to  associate  with  such 
as  we  are." 

"  Leave  you !  "  he  cried,  drawing  her  closely  to  his 
side,  and  looking  down  into  her  pale  face  with  an  honest, 
manly  flush  of  indignation  on  his.  "  May  every  plague 
in  nature  fall  on  my  dishonored  head  if  I  do  !  You  are 
rightly  called  'Vera,'  for  a  truer  heart  than  yours  never 
beat ;  and  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  to  lose  it.  I  shall 
not  ask  her  to  leave  you,  sir,"  he  said,  addressing  her 
father.  "  But  I  charge  you,  by  the  memory  of  your 


298  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

dead  wife,  and  as  you  value  your  safety,  to  place  no 
obstacle  in  my  way,  as  I  seek  to  make  her  happy  in  this, 
her  mountain  home." 

"  Theron,"  said  Vera,  in  a  low,  thrilling  tone,  that  he 
never  forgot,  "  I  did  not  know  that  there  was  so  noble  a 
man  in  all  the  world." 

"Give  me  no  credit,"  he  replied.  "To  very  few 
does  there  come  such  a  chance  for  happiness  as  I  have 
found  in  you.  Come  with  me  out  under  the  starlight, 
for  I  have  much  to  say  to  you." 

Before  leaving  the  cabin,  however,  he  turned  to  her 
father,  who  sat  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands,  and 
said, 

"  I  know  not,  and  will  never  seek  to  know,  what  you 
have  done,  and  I  believe  that  your  remorse  is  greater 
than  your  crime  ;  but,  as  the  father  of  this  dear  and 
innocent  maiden,  I  shall  always  treat  you  with  respect. 
You  have  acted  honorably  to-night,  and  I  honor  you  for 
it.  I  take  my  present  course  deliberately,  and  with  rny 
eyes  fully  open." 

"  I  fear  that  you  will  have  cause  for  regret ;  and  yet, 
for  Vera's  sake,  I  hope  it  may  be  for  the  best." 

"I  will  never  leave  you,  father,"  said  his  daughter, 
tenderly  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  kissing 
him. 

Tears  came  into  the  poor  man's  eyes,  and  he  said 
huskily, 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  this.     Go,  go  ;  it  pains  me  !  " 

Saville,  in  the  impulse  of  his  strong  love  and  excite- 
ment, had  decided  to  tell  Vera  just  how  he  was  situated, 
believing  that,  in  view  of  the  circumstances,  she  would 
accept  of  his  lifelong  devotion,  though  unsanctioned  by 
any  formal  rites  ;  but  her  first  glad  and  natural  utter- 
ance, as  they  stepped  out  into  the  quiet  night,  checked 
the  words  upon  his  lips. 

"  Thank  God  !  "  she  cried  ;  "  thank  God !     How  good 


VEJRA'S  ONLY  CRIME  299 

my  Heavenly  Father  has  been  to  me !  Oh !  that  I 
could  tell  mother  how  happy  I  am  !  " 

Saville  was  silent.  It  was  his  turn  to  experience  a  pro- 
phetic chill  of  dread.  What  had  that  old  Hebrew 
divinity,  at  whom  he  had  scoffed  so  many  years,  to  do 
with  his  happiness  or  hers  ?  But  now  he  rose  up  before 
him  like  a  grim,  remorseless  idol,  to  which  the  maiden 
at  his  side,  so  gentle  and  loving,  and  yet  so  strong, 
might  sacrifice  both  herself  and  him. 

Prudence  whispered,  "You  had  better  not  tell  her 
to-night,  you  have  too  much  at  stake  ;  wait."  And  so, 
instead  of  telling  her  the  sad  story  of  his  past  blindness 
and  folly,  with  their  consequences,  he  led  her  thoughts 
away  from  every  painful  theme,  resolving  that  they  both 
should  have  one  happy  hour,  whatever  might  be  on  the 
morrow.  And  yet,  remembering  the  only  relation  he 
could  offer,  he  did  not  dare  speak  frankly  of  his  love, 
and  could  only  comfort  her  with  the  general  assurance 
that  he  would  never  leave  her  to  the  desolation  which 
her  father's  language  had  so  awfully  described.  He 
spoke  of  their  old,  happy  trysts,  and  promised  that 
they  should  be  continued  as  often  as  his  duties  permitted. 
Thus,  while  he  did  not  openly  and  formally  declare  his 
love,  it  so  pervaded  his  tone  and  manner  as  to  abun- 
dantly satisfy  Vera,  whose  quick  intuitions  scarcely  needed 
words. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

VERA   MUST   BECOME   AN   ATHEIST 

THAT  night  Saville  slept  but  little.  He  had  thought 
that  he  had  settled,  in  the  afternoon,  the  question  of  his 
future  relation  to  Vera ;  but  the  strange,  unexpected 
events  of  the  evening,  after  her  father's  return,  had 
given  the  problem,  in  his  view,  an  entirely  new  aspect. 
The  future  he  had  proposed  for  the  maiden— the  chance 
for  a  happy  life  under  its  ordinary  and  normal  condi- 
tions in  society — seemed  utterly  blotted  out  and  rendered 
impossible,  and  through  no  fault  or  weakness  of  his. 

Saville  was  full  of  generous  and  noble  impulses,  and 
Vera's  fidelity  to  her  father  excited  his  boundless  admi- 
ration and  respect,  and  greatly  increased  his  affection 
for  her.  In  contrasting  the  faithful  girl  with  his  selfish 
and  malicious  wife,  he  could  scarcely  believe  that  they 
both  belonged  to  the  same  race. 

But,  as  he  saw  that  Vera's  beauty  of  character  equaled 
that  of  her  form  and  features,  the  more  unspeakable 
became  his  reluctance  to  attempt  any  such  self-sacrifice 
as  he  had  resolved  upon  in  the  afternoon.  Nor  did  it 
now  seem  necessary,  or  even  right,  that  he  should. 
Every  avenue  into  the  world  was  closed  against  her, 
and  she  looked  to  him  alone  for  happiness. 

The  fact  of  her  love  was  most  apparent  ;  and  she,  no 
more  than  himself,  could  be  satisfied  with  the  fiction  of 
fraternal  affection. 

But  one  thing  now  stood  in  the  way  of  their  happiness, 
and  that  was  what  he  regarded  as  her  superstitious  faith. 
Holding  her  present  belief,  what  he  must  propose  would 
seem  wrong,  and  only  by  teaching  her  his  own  philos* 


VEBA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST  301 

ophy  could  he  make  it  appear  otherwise.  But  even  if 
this  were  possible,  he  had  promised,  at  her  mother's 
grave,  on  the  day  of  burial,  that  he  would  never  do 
aught  to  shake  the  child's  confidence  in  that  mother's 
teachings,  or  lead  from  the  course  which  the  parent 
would  approve.  Did  not  that  pledge  prove  as  insupera- 
ble a  bar  as  his  wretched  marriage  ?  And  he  cursed  his 
destiny  as  the  most  cruel  that  had  ever  fallen  to  the 
lot  of  man. 

But  as,  in  the  long,  wakeful  hours,  he  sought  some 
solution  of  the  problem,  this  thought  occurred  :  When 
he  made  that  promise,  he  had  foreseen  no  such  emer- 
gency as  this.  Should  he  be  more  loyal  to  his  own 
hasty  pledge  than  to  her  whose  welfare  now  wholly  de- 
pended upon  him  ?  In  breaking  the  promise,  he  would 
only  be  more  true  to  her.  He  believed  that  her  mother 
was  only  a  memory.  She  was  dead  ;  she  had  ceased  to 
exist.  He  was  a  strong,  living  friend. 

As  long  as  the  religious  delusion  whiqh.  the  mother  had 
taught  her  child  had  been  a  comfort  and  a  support, 
it  was  right  and  kind  not  to  disturb  it.  But  should  he 
permit  this  delusion — this  old,  antiquated  superstition, 
from  which  the  advanced  thinkers  of  the  world  were  fast 
freeing  themselves — to  stand  in  the  way  of  actual  and 
priceless  advantages?  Both  Vera  and  himself  would 
soon  cease  to  exist,  and  the  opportunity  for  enjoyment 
would  pass  away  forever.  Why,  then,  let  an  imaginary 
spectre  in  the  path,  that  a  bold  approach  and  scrutiny 
would  dissipate,  prevent  a  lifetime  of  happiness  ?  Was 
he  not  even  under  sacred  obligations  to  take  the  tram- 
mels  from  her  mind,  when  they  would  cause  such 
remediless  loss  ? 

The  honest  theorist  believed  that  duty  coincided  with 
inclination,  and  starting  with  this  premise,  there  was  no 
other  conclusion  possible. 

But  the  question  which  troubled  him  most  was,  Could  he 


302  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

do  this  ?  He  had  been  shown  how  much  the  word  duty 
meant  to  Vera.  Her  faith  was  simple  and  absolute,  and 
having  been  taught  by  her  mother,  was  most  dear  and 
sacred.  He  foresaw  that  the  task  would  be  exceedingly 
difficult,  and  yet  there  seemed  no  other  course. 

He  resolved  to  attempt  it  as  the  only  way  out  of  his 
cruel  dilemma  ;  and  it  was  a  habit  of  his  mind,  when  he 
had  reasoned  a  thing  out  to  his  satisfaction,  to  rest  firmly 
in  the  conclusion.  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  be  ever 
looking  back  with  doubts  and  misgivings.  He  had  no 
fears  but  that  he  could  make  a  home  in  that  secluded 
mountain  region,  after  the  war  was  over,  which  would 
contain  more  of  the  elements  of  happiness  than  he  could 
find  elsewhere.  And  if  she  were  willing,  he  was  per- 
fectly ready  to  proclaim  to  the  world  that  the  impulses 
of  nature  are  the  only  true  and  binding  laws,  and  to  sup- 
port his  creed  by  his  open  example.  He  knew  that  his 
proud,  conservative  mother  would  never  approve  of  his 
course,  but  this  was  too  near  and  personal  a  question  to 
be  decided  by  her  prejudices.  He  therefore  decided  to 
conceal  the  fact  of  his  marriage  from  the  maiden,  as 
much  for  her  sake  as  his  own.  For,  if  she  learned  of  it 
prematurely,  before  receiving  the  enlightenment  of  mind 
which  he  hoped  to  bring  by  his  teaching,  she,  in  her 
strong  superstition,  might  destroy,  not  only  his  happi- 
ness, but  her  own. 

Having  settled  upon  his  course,  he  fell  into  a  refreshing 
slumber,  which  lasted  till  late  in  the  following  morning, 
when  he  was  awakened  by  the  report  of  Vera's  gun. 
On  going  out.  she  met  him  joyously,  exclaiming, 

"  My  aim  is  truer  to-day.  See  what  a  royal  dinner 
you  are  to  have  !  " 

"  I  will  come  to  your  banquet,  Queen  Esther." 

"You  might  do  worse.  And  I'm  glad  you  have  no 
hateful  Haman  to  bring  with  you."  Then  she  added 
musingly,  "  How  often  I  have  read  that  story.  Do  you 


VERA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST  303 

know  that  I  think  some  of  those  old  Bible  tales  are  very 
strange  ?  ' ' 

"Little  wonder,"  he  replied,  with  an  expressive  shrug. 

"  But  I  believe  them,"  she  said  stoutly. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  he  replied  laughing  ;  "  even  to 
the  acceptance  of  that  marvelous,  long-eared  beast  which 
was  wiser  than  the  prophet,  and  spoke  his  master's 
vernacular.  There,  forgive  me  !  I  did  not  mean  to  pain 
your  dear,  credulous  heart.  You  must  remember,  in 
charity  to  me,  how  these  stories  sound  to  a  man.  I  hope 
you  feel  as  well  and  happy  as  I  do  this  morning.  But 
I  need  not  ask,  when  I  see  the  tints  of  these  October 
leaves  in  your  cheeks." 

"  Here  is  one  that  is  brown,  and  here  another,  yellow 
and  green,"  replied  Vera,  in  like  playful  spirit,  per- 
mitting the  cloud  to  pass  from  her  brow. 

"  And  here  is  one  as  beautiful  as  that  dawn  which  I 
saw  reflected  in  your  face  after  the  night  you  so  patiently 
watched  over  me.  Was  that  rich  color  only  the  reflec- 
tion of  the  sky,  Vera  ?  " 

"  You  had  just  waked  up,  and  could  not  see  anything 
plainly.  But  a  busy  housekeeper  must  not  stand  idling 
here.  Come  and  see  what  Gula  has  for  breakfast." 

The  day  passed  like  a  happy  dream  to  them  both. 
With  a  shy,  maidenly  reserve,  Vera  checked  any  open 
expression  or  manifestation  of  the  love  she  was  content  to 
see  in  his  face  and  catch  in  his  tones,  while  the  garish 
light  of  day  lasted.  But  when  they  again  walked  out  in 
the  starlight,  Saville  would  be  put  off  no  longer,  and  he 
asked, 

"  Vera,  do  you  know  why  it  was  impossible  for  me  to 
leave  you  ?  " 

"  You  said,  yesterday  afternoon,  that  I  was  your  dear 
sister,"  she  faltered. 

"  That  is  an  endearing  term  ;  but  did  it  satisfy  you  ?  " 

She  was  silent,  and  he  felt  her  hand  tremble  on  his  arm. 


304  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"I  do  not  think  it  did.  Your  wistful  eyes,  uncon- 
sciously to  yourself,  pleaded  for  something  more — some 
dearer  term.  Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember  what  you  were  saying  when  I 
found  you  in  Fort  Clinton?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  tone. 

"Tell  me  what  I  said." 

"  I  would  rather  that  you  remembered." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you,  Vera.  I  supposed  they 
would  be  my  last  waking  thoughts,  and  I  said,  '  My  more 
than  sister,  my  heart's  true  mate.'  Were  not  those  my 
words?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  they  have  made  sweet  echoes  in  my  ears 
ever  since,  though  I  did  not  till  last  night  understand  all 
they  meant." 

"  Have  they  not  made  echoes  in  your  heart  also  ? 
Have  you  not  found  your  own  true  mate  ?  " 

"  '  Thou  knowest,'  Theron,  '  the  mask  of  night  is  on  my 
face  ;  else  would  a  maiden  blush'  tell  you  all.  I  cannot 
add,  with  Juliet, 

If  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won, 

I'll  frown,  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay ; 

for  you  know  well,  already,  that  I  am  wholly  yours.  In- 
deed, if  my  heart  had  been  as  cold  towards  you  yester- 
day as  it  was  tender,  I  could  not  fail  of  being  won  by 
your  generous — O  Theron  !  your  course  towards  me,  who 
am  so  poor,  friendless,  and  shadowed  with  evil  and 
shame,  overwhelms  me  with  gratitude." 

"Any  other  course  would  bring  me  lifelong  wretched- 
ness. Now  what  cause  have  you  for  gratitude  ?" 

"  More  cause,  since  what  you  give  is  not  an  alms;  for 
though  I  should  perish  without  your  love,  I  could  not 
take  it  as  a  charity.  But  are  you  sure  you  will  never 
regret  your  action  ?  My  heart  misgives  me  when  I  think 
of  it ;  the  world  can  offer  you  so  much  !  You  might 


VERA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST          305 

easily  win  one  who  is  dowered  with  wealth,  rank,  and 
beauty,  instead  of  poor  me,  who  am  heiress  only  of  a 
curse." 

Saville  thought,  with  a  mental  oath  of  execration,  how 
he  had  won  such  a  one  as  she  described ;  but,  with  the 
purpose  of  banishing  all  such  misgivings  on  her  part,  he 
said, 

"  If  I  were  an  ambitious  boy  who  had  never  seen  the 
world,  there  might,  possibly,  be  some  ground  for  your 
fears ;  but  from  my  youth  I  have  been  out  in  the  world, 
and  know  much  about  it  ;  and  never,  in  my  happiest 
moments  there,  did  I  experience  half  the  content  I  found 
in  your  companionship,  even  when  I  was  first  learning  to 
know  your  worth,  as  we  talked  together  on  the  height 
back  of  your  old  home,  near  West  Point.  Now  that  I 
have  come  to  love  you,  now  that  I  justly  honor  you 
above  all  other  women,  can  you  imagine  I  could  ever 
think  of  another  ?  It  is  because  I  have  seen  the  world, 
and  know  what  it  contains,  and  how  little  it  can  do  for 
me,  that  I  prize  you  far  beyond  it  all  ;  and  it  is  because 
you  are  so  innocent  and  unworldly  that  you  do  not  know 
your  own  value.  If  I  had  met  you  in  society,  I  should 
have  had  scores  of  rivals." 

"  Now  I  fear  you  are  flattering  me,"  she  said  laughing  ; 
"  but  you  would  have  had  no  cause  for  fear.  I  shall 
come  to  believe  in  my  value  only  as  I  can  make  you 
happy." 

"  Then  I  fear  you  will  grow  vain,  indeed,  for  you  will 
find  that  your  power  is  unbounded  in  this  respect." 

"O  Theron !  if  I  could  induce  you  to  accept  of  my 
faith,  what  you  say  would  eventually  be  true.  I  cannot 
help  telling  you  now,  at  the  commencement  of  our  new  and 
happy  life,  that  I  can  never  rest — never  be  satisfied — till 
mother's  favorite  words  from  the  Bible,  'Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be  afraid,'  mean  to  you 
what  they  did  to  her  and  do  to  me.  For  some  reason, 


306  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

God  had  seemed  afar  off,  and  I  was  losing  my  faith  in 
his  goodness  and  mercy  ;  but,  from  the  time  he  enabled 
me  to  find  you  in  the  fort,  I  have  felt  differently,  and  now 
I  cannot  thank  and  love  him  enough." 

Saville  was  dismayed.  This  was  reversing  matters, 
and  the  one  he  proposed  to  win  over  to  atheism  was  fully- 
bent  on  leading  him  to  become  a  Christian. 

After  a  moment  she  added,  "  I  miss  my  Bible  so 
much.  Won't  you  get  me  another,  Theron?  " 

"  I  cannot,"  he  said,  a  little  abruptly  ;  and  then  con- 
tinued,  very  gently,  "  We  must  agree  to  dismiss  this 
subject,  Vera,  darling.  The  Bible  is  not  to  me  what  it 
is  to  you,  and  it  never  can  be.  Great  as  my  faults  are,  I 
try  to  be  honest ;  and  with  you  I  cannot  help  being 
sincere.  If  you  regarded  the  Bible  as  a  result  of  human 
genius,  like  the  plays  of  Shakespeare,  I  would  get  you 
one.  But  I  cannot  aid  you  in  making  its  unnatural 
teaching  and  stories  the  law  of  your  conscience." 

"  O  Theron  !  "  exclaimed  Vera,  bursting  into  tears, 
and  hiding  her  face  upon  his  shoulder. 

"I  knew  what  I  said' would  pain  you,  darling,  but  I 
could  not  help  it.  Would  you  have  me  act  the  part  of  a 
hypocrite  ?  I  am  just  as  sincere  as  you  are.  You  have 
told  me  your  views  and  faith,  and  I  tell  you  mine. 
As  you  believe  in  the  Bible,  I  believe  in  man  and 
nature  ;  and  I  see  in  you  her  most  perfect  work." 

"  But  God  is  the  author  of  both  man  and  nature," 
said  Vera  eagerly. 

"  I  see  no  proof  of  it,  and  much  to  the  contrary,"  an- 
swered Saville  decidedly.  "  Moreover,  the  great  and 
wise  of  the  world,  who  do  their  own  thinking,  hold  the 
same  views  that  I  do.  As  the  subject  has  come  up  be- 
tween us,  I  could  not  help  being  honest  with  you,  as  I 
ever  shall  be ;  but  do  not  let  us  dwell  on  it  any 
longer  now." 

Vera  sighed  deeply,  but  said  only,  "  I  cannot  under- 


VERA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST  307 

stand  how  any  one  can  be  so  good  and  noble  as  you  are 
and  not  believe  in  the  Bible.  1  never  even  dreamed 
that  it  could  be  otherwise  than  true,  and  to  doubt  it 
seems  impossible.  And  yet  I  know  you  are  as  sincere 
as  I  am." 

"  And  thus  you  prove  that  you  are  no  bigot,  darling  ; 
for,  as  a  general  thing,  the  devotees  of  all  the  various 
religions  of  the  world  are  prone  to  regard  those  who 
cannot  think  just  as  they  do  as  wilful,  wicked  wretches, 
who  ought  to  be  knocked  promptly  on  the  head.  If 
you  can't  convert  me,  I  am  sure  you  will  not  put  me  to 
torture,  will  you,  dear?" 

"  If  I  did,  I  should  torture  myself  most.  But,  Theron, 
this  is  too  sad  a  subject  for  me  to  jest  about.  I  shall 
never  cease  to  hope  that  you  will  some  day  think  as  I  do. 
God  can  incline  your  heart  towards  him  as  easily  as  he 
bends  the  tops  of  yonder  trees." 

"  Now,  Vera,  darling,  that  is  the  wind  which  is 
bending  the  tree -tops.  Let  us  drop  this  subject  for 
the  present.  We  have  both  been  honest  with  each 
other,  and  we  could  not  be  otherwise.  There  is  so 
much  on  which  we  lovingly  and  heartily  agree,  why 
dwell  on  the  one  thing  wherein  we  differ?"  And  he 
strove,  with  all  a  lover's  zeal,  to  banish  her  sad  thoughts. 
She  loved  him  too  well  to  permit  him  to  see  that  he 
failed.  Indeed  he  did  not  fail.  The  cup  of  happiness 
which  he  placed  to  her  lips  filled  her  with  a  strange 
delight,  even  while  she  remained  conscious  that  it  con- 
tained one  bitter  dreg. 

The  following  days  passed  all  too  quickly  for  them 
both.  It  was  part  of  Saville's  scheme  to  enchain  her 
affections,  so  that  she  could  not  take  any  other  course, 
when  the  test  came,  than  that  which  he  proposed  ;  and 
it  would  seem  that  he  was  succeeding  beyond  his  hopes. 
Her  capability  of  loving  was  large,  and  she  had  but  few 
other  ties  and  interests  to  draw  her  thoughts  from  him. 


308  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

His  mind  was  cultivated,  versatile,  ever  full  of  bright, 
fresh  thoughts  ;  and  thus  his  society  was  to  her  like 
a  sweet,  exhilarating  wine.  But  that  which  weighed 
more  with  her  than  all  else  was  the  ever-present  memory 
of  his  devoted  loyalty  to  her,  when  she  knew  that  the 
great  majority  of  the  world  would  have  shrunk  away. 
She  looked  forward  to  their  parting  with  inexpressible 
dread,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  constant  dangers  to 
which  as  a  soldier  he  must  be  exposed,  gave  to  her 
affection  a  tenderness,  which  only  those  who  hold 
their  heart-idols  in  uncertain  tenure  can  understand. 

During  the  latter  part  of  his  stay,  Saville  wasted  no 
hours  in  love-idyls  ;  but  was  busy,  in  every  possible 
way,  in  providing  for  her  security  and  comfort  during 
the  coming  winter.  He  sent  Tascar  repeatedly  across 
the  mountains  for  such  things  as  were  needed,  and  also 
employed  him  in  constructing  a  secure  though  hidden 
bridle-path  down  into  the  glen.  He  induced  Mr.  Brown 
to  aid  him  in  building  substantial  shelter  for  a  horse, 
two  or  three  cows,  and  some  poultry.  On  the  margin  of 
a  neighboring  pond  there  was  still  forage  which  might 
be  cut,  which,  with  the  grain  that  he  intended  to 
send,  would  be  sufficient  provision  until  spring  again 
brought  its  abundant  supply. 

Vera  amused  Saville  one  day  by  her  spirit  of  independ- 
ence. 

"We  cannot  receive  all  this,"  she  said,  "without 
making  some  return." 

"Give  me  a  kiss,  and  I  am  amply  repaid,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  I  am  in  earnest,"  she  continued.  "  Is  there  not 
some  way  in  which  I  can  earn  money  ?  " 

"Yes,  you  have  only  to  do  as  I  ask,  and  you  shall 
receive  the  greater  part  of  my  pay." 

"  But  something  tells  me  that  this  is  not  right, 
Theron  ;  at  least,  not  yet." 


VERA  MUST  BECOME  AN  ATHEIST  309 

He  knew  that  she  meant  not  until  they  were  married. 
But,  feeling  that  he  could  never  have  a  better  right  than 
now,  he  tried  to  satisfy  her  by  saying, 

"  Since  I  am  yours,  body  and  soul,  can  I  not  share 
that  with  you  which  I  value  only  as  it  can  minister  to 
your  comfort  ?  This  is  the  beginning  of  our  future 
home,  and  you  are  doing  more  to  make  it  homelike  than 
I  can." 

"  Oh,  dear!  "  she  cried,  half  pouting,  half  laughing  ; 
"  do  men  always  have  their  own  way  ?  " 

"  No,  my  fairy  queen.     I  will  one  day  be  your  slave." 

"  Why  not  add  that  you  will  take  the  part  of  Caliban, 
and  that  I  will  call  '  What,  ho  !  slave  !  Caliban !  make 
our  fire  ;  fetch  in  our  wood.'  Oh  !  but  you  will  be  '  a 
brave  monster,'  Theron  !  " 

"  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  will  be  Prospero,  and  you  '  my 
quaint  Ariel.'  But  I  will  never  give  thee  thy  freedom." 

"  Indeed  !  this  is  reversing  the  order;  and  yet  I  think 
you  are  nearer  right  now.  I  am  '  to  answer  thy  best 
pleasure,'  and  do  '  thy  strong  bidding.'  Your  pet  name 
of  Ariel  always  makes  me  laugh,  however,  for  you 
forget  that  the  spirit  says,  '  To  thy  strong  bidding  task 
Ariel,  and  all  his  quality.'  Tascar  must  be  your  Ariel, 
and  I  will  be  — —  " 

"  My  heart's  true  mate.  Come,  there  is  Gula  sum- 
moning us  to  supper  ;  "  and  with  a  glance  that  gave  the 
confiding  girl  more  assurance  than  could  any  words,  he 
led  her  within  the  cabin  that  he  already  called  "  home," 
and  to  which  their  united  labors  were  fast  giving  a 
homelike  and  inviting  character. 

The  parting  which  soon  came  was  a  sore  trial  to  Vera, 
though,  woman-like,  she  sought  to  hide  from  her  lover 
how  deeply  she  was  pained.  She  comforted  herself 
with  his  assurance,  however,  that  in  all  probability  he 
would  not  be  far  away,  and  that  he  could  often  visit  her. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A   HASTY   MARRIAGE 

ON  reaching  the  headquarters  of  the  force  defending  the 
Highlands,  Saville  received  a  warm  welcome  from  his 
old  associates  and  acquaintances.  And  yet  he  could  not 
help  noting  something  in  their  manner  which  both  puzzled 
and  annoyed  him.  He,  at  first,  suspected  that  Surgeon 
Jasper  had  gossiped  concerning  his  fair  hostess  and 
nurse  ;  and,  therefore,  drew  him  aside,  with  the  intention 
of  teaching  him  and  others  a  severe  lesson,  in  case  his 
surmise  proved  correct.  In  matters  personal  to  himself 
Saville  was  one  to  resent  promptly,  even  to  the  extent  of 
a  bloody  quarrel,  anything  which  he  regarded  as  an  un- 
warrantable interference  or  liberty. 

"Jasper,"  he  said,  "  I  cannot  believe  that  you  could 
have  so  far  forgotten  the  confidential  relations  which  you, 
as  my  medical  adviser,  sustained  to  me,  as  to  babble  of 
anything  you  saw  or  surmised  when  attending  me  in  the 
mountains  ;  and  yet  what  does  the  peculiar  manner  of  my 
old  acquaintances  mean  ?  Why  do  they  turn  and  look 
after  me,  and  say  something  that  is  not  designed  for  my 
ears  ? ' ' 

"  You  are  right,  Saville.  I  am  not  capable  of  break- 
ing professional  silence,  even  if  I  had  no  friendly  regard 
for  you.  Come  to  my  quarters." 

On  reaching  them,  the  surgeon  fastened  the  door,  and 
took  out  a  New  York  paper. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said. 

"  Mother  ?  "  asked  Saville,  turning  pale. 

"No,  no!     Read  !  " 

With  a  frown  black  as  night,  Saville  read  : 


A  HASTY  MARRIAGE  311 

"  Married,  on  the  I2th  of  October,  Captain  Henry  Vennam, 
of  H.  R.  M.  Service,  to  Mrs.  Julia  Ashburton  Saville,  widow 
of  the  late  Captain  Saville,  who  was  killed  during  the  storming 
of  the  forts  in  the  Highlands  on  the  Hudson.  It  is  well  known 
that  Mrs.  Saville  had  no  sympathy  with  her  husband,  in  his 
unnatural  rebellion  against  his  king,  and  that  her  loyal  hostility 
to  his  disloyalty  long  ago  led  to  a  formal  separation.  This  fact 
fully  accounts  for  the  seeming  haste  with  which  she  has  honored 
with  her  hand  the  brave  and  accomplished  officer  who  this  day 
leads  her  to  the  altar." 

With  a  deep  imprecation,  Saville  crushed  the  paper  in 
his  hand,  and  then  sat  motionless,  with  contracting 
brows,  like  one  trying  to  think  his  way  out  of  some  un- 
expected emergency. 

"  From  one  of  our  spies  who  has  since  come  in,"  said 
the  surgeon.  "  we  have  learned  the  additional  fact,  that 
this  fellow,  Vennam,  found  you  himself  in  the  fort,  and 
brought  away  your  sword  as  proof  of  your  death.  It  is 
well  he  did  not  use  it  to  let  out  what  little  life  you  had 
left." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  would,  and  with  her  full  ap- 
proval, if  he  had  supposed  I  was  alive,"  said  Saville  ab- 
stractedly. 

"  That's  a  harsh  accusation  to  bring  against  your  wife." 

"  Curse  her !  "  cried  Saville,  starting  up  in  great  agita- 
tion. "  That  is  the  most  infernal  part  of  this  whole 
shameful  business  !  She  is  still  my  wife.  If  I  were  only 
rid  of  her  forever,  I  could  forgive  the  insult  of  her  in- 
decent haste  in  seeking  the  altar  with  another  man.  But 
the  law  still  binds  me  to  her,  as  fiendish  cruelty  once 
chained  criminals  to  a  putrefying  corpse." 

"  It's  only  too  true,  Saville,  Her  marriage  with  that 
officer  was  only  an  empty  form.  Will  she  remain  with 
him,  do  you  think  ?  She  must  have  heard  that  you  are 
alive  by  this  time." 

""I  don't  know,"  said  Saville  desperately.    "  She  is  none 


312  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

too  good,  If  she  would  only  break  her  neck  before  she 
breaks  my  heart !  " 

"  Well,  Saville,  pardon  me  for  saying  it  ;  but  I  think 
you  will  find  both  comfort  and  revenge  in  yonder  moun- 
tains." 

"Jasper,"  said  Saville  gravely,  "  you  are  my  friend  ; 
but  touch  lightly  on  that  subject.  If  I  were  free  to  marry 
that  innocent  maiden,  who,  you  know  well,  is  unrivaled 
in  all  that  can  win  respect  and  love,  I  would  esteem  it 
more  than  the  best  gift  of  the  world.  She  saved  my  life 
when  that  vile  thing  the  law  calls  my  wife  was  waiting 
with  murderous  eagerness  to  hear  of  my  death." 

"  I  admit  that  you  cannot  legally  marry  your  wild 
flower  ;  but  you  know  what  men  do  every  day,  and  with- 
out a  tithe  of  your  excuse.  She  is  evidently  the  daughter 
of  a  criminal,  and  can  never  hope  for  any  better  future 
than  you  can  offer." 

"  The  honest  love  and  devoted,  lifelong  loyalty  which 
I  would  offer  I  believe  to  be  right  and  honorable.  Do 
you  suppose  that  I  could  ask  that  true,  pure  girl,  to  whom 
I  owe  so  much,  to  do  anything  that  I  regarded  as  base, 
or  even  wrong?  That  she  is  friendless  and  defenseless  ; 
that  her  father,  who  should  be  her  natural  protector,  has 
only  darkened  her  life  by  some  evil  deed,  all  make  it 
more  imperative  that  I,  as  a  man  of  honor,  should  be 
faithful  to  her  interests.  I  do  most  sincerely  believe  that 
I  have  a  right  to  offer  her  my  love  ;  but,  with  her  faith 
and  training,  I  fear  that  I  can  never  make  it  appear  so  to 
her,  when  she  comes  to  know  of  that  woman  in  New 
York." 

"  Well,"  said  the  surgeon,  with  a  shrug,  "  I  am 
neither  Christian  nor  philosopher.  I  take  the  world  as  I 
find  it,  and  try  to  have  as  comfortable  a  time  as  I  can 
every  day,  hoping  that  the  good  luck  which  I  have  al- 
ways had  here  will  follow  me  into  the  next  life,  if  there  is 
any." 


A  HASTY  MARRIAGE  313 

"Well  added,"  replied  Saville  bitterly;  '"if there  is 
any  !  '  If  men  used  their  reason,  and  believed  what  they 
saw,  they  would  know  there  is  not.  This  life  would  be 
abundantly  sufficient,  and  in  the  main  happy,  did  not 
superstition  and  the  monstrous  laws  it  has  spawned  curse 
and  thwart  us  on  every  side.  But,  farewell,  my  friend  ; 
I  have  much  to  think  of,  and  I  will  inflict  my  ill-starred 
affairs  on  you  no  longer.  Let  all  that  has  passed  be- 
tween us  be  buried  where  no  gossip-monger  can  ever 
rake  it  up." 

After  carefully  considering  the  act  of  his  wife  in  all  its 
aspects,  Saville  concluded  that  it  would  be  to  his  ad- 
vantage. The  haste  of  her  marriage,  which  she  had  ill- 
tended  as  an  indignity  to  his  memory,  would  react  against 
herself,  and  involve  more  shame  to  her  than  to  him. 
His  hate  was  gratified  at  the  thought  of  her  intense  morti- 
fication and  disappointment  when  learning  that  he  was 
still  living.  She  must  either  separate  instantly  from  the 
man  for  whom  she  had  a  passion — of  love  she  was  not 
capable — or  else  be  disgraced  for  life.  At  best,  even  her 
own  party  would  be  far  more  inclined  towards  censure 
than  to  entertain  charity  or  sympathy. 

He  also  felt  utterly  absolved  from  what  he  regarded 
as  his  rash  promise  to  be  loyal  to  the  mere  name  of 
wife. 

But  the  consideration  which  weighed  most  with  him 
was  the  belief  that  Vera,  in  view  of  her  act,  could  be 
made  to  feel  that  in  reality  he  had  no  wife,  that  she  had 
forfeited  every  claim,  and  so  might  be  more  surely  led  to 
accept  of  Saville  as  her  lover,  since  he  could  not  be  her 
husband. 

The  fact  that  a  certain  amount  of  the  odium  of  his 
wife's  course  would  cling  to  him  in  the  world's  estima- 
tion, and  that  he  would  always  be  known  as  the  husband 
of  the  woman  who  was  in  such  haste  to  marry  another 
that  she  could  not  wait  till  assured  of  his  burial,  made  a 


314  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

secluded  mountain  home,  with  Vera,  seem  all  the  more, 
truly  a  refuge. 

Thus,  every  hope  for  the  future  came  to  rest,  more 
completely  than  before,  on  the  success  of  his  scheme  of 
teaching  Vera  that  man  was  a  law  unto  himself,  and  that 
there  was  no  external  power  that  had  a  right  to  set  in 
judgment  on  his  actions. 

A  day  or  two  thereafter,  a  paper  came  through  the 
lines,  from  New  York,  containing  the  following  item  : 

"  TRUTH  STRANGER  THAN  FICTION. — Captain  Saville,  whom 
all  supposed  killed  at  Fort  Clinton,  is  alive.  It  is  said  that  he 
was  taken  from  the  fort,  late  at  night,  by  some  people  whom  he 
had  befriended,  and  carried  back  in  the  mountains  ;  and  that, 
though  very  severely  wounded,  he  is  rapidly  recovering. 
These  facts  are  so  well  authenticated  that  his  wife  has  left  Cap- 
tain Vennam's  quarters,  and  returned  to  her  relatives.  It  is 
said  that  they  are  deeply  incensed  against  the  unfortunate  officer 
who  rather  deserves  sympathy,  since  he  has  become,  in  a  cer- 
tain sense,  a  widower.  There  seems  to  have  been  strange 
blundering  in  the  case  somewhere.  Perhaps  the  eyes  of  the 
gallant  captain  were  still  blinded  with  the  smoke  of  battle, 
when  he  supposed  that  he  saw  Saville  dead.  There  may  be 
new  developments  in  the  comedy,  or  tragedy,  whichever  it  may 
prove,  before  many  days." 

Saville  smiled  grimly  as  he  read  it,  and  then  tossed  it 
contemptuously  aside. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SEEMING   SUCCESS 

LATER  in  the  day,  Saville  received  a  document  which 
he  read  with  keen  delight.  It  was  a  leave  of  absence 
from  his  commanding  officer,  in  which  he  was  compli- 
mented on  his  behavior  in  the  recent  battle,  and  congratu- 
lated upon  his  remarkable  escape.  "  The  campaign  is 
over,"  the  writer  went  on  to  say,  "  and  it  is  not  yet  fully 
decided  just  where,  in  the  Highlands,  the  future  works 
will  be  erected.  Surgeon  Jasper  also  informs  me  that, 
in  your  zeal  for  the  service,  you  have  reported  for  duty 
rather  sooner  than  the  condition  of  your  wound  warrants. 
You  are  therefore  requested  to  leave  your  address  at  these 
headquarters,  and  are  permitted  to  be  absent  until  noti- 
fied." 

"Jasper,  this  is  your  work,"  said  Saville,  entering  the 
surgeon's  quarters. 

"  Well,  suppose  it  is  ;  what  have  you  got  to  say  about 
it?"  replied  Jasper,  lifting  his  broad,  good-natured  face 
to  the  speaker. 

"  I  say  this,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  mon  ami, 
may  you  never  have  to  take  any  of  your  own  medicine  !  " 

"  Amen  !  "  cried  the  surgeon.  "  I  was  never  wished 
better  luck  than  that.  But  hold  on,  you  are  not  through 
with  me  yet.  I  jogged  the  general's  elbow  only  that  I 
might  get  a  chance  to  jockey  you  on  a  horse.  I've  a 
beast  that's  a  little  too  skittish  for  one  of  my  weight  and 
temperament,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  if  I  gave  you  a 
chance  to  make  a  quick  journey,  you  would  buy  him." 

"  Name  your  price  ;  charge  what  you  please  ;  I'm 
wholly  at  your  mercy,"  laughed  Saville. 

"  That  is  the  condition  in  which  I  always  like  to  get  a 


316  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

patient,  for  I  can  then  bleed  him  to  my  own  satisfaction 
But  if  you  were  not  my  friend,  Saville,  I  would  charge 
you  twice  as  much  as  I  am  going  to  ask." 

The  bargain  was  soon  made,  nor  did  Saville  regret  it, 
when,  on  the  following  short  November  day,  the  fleet 
animal  carried  him  safely  to  the  mountain  gorge  that  he 
hoped  would  henceforth  be  the  Mecca  of  all  his  pilgrim- 
ages. 

He  did  not  go  clattering  down  the  bridle  path  ;  but, 
tying  his  horse  some  distance  away,  stole  up  to  the  cabin 
unperceived,  and  looked  in  at  the  window.  How  vividly, 
in  after  years,  he  remembered  the  picture  he  then  saw ! 
Vera  sat  alone,  on  one  side  of  the  ample  hearth  ;  her 
work  had  fallen  on  the  floor  at  her  side,  and  her  hands 
were  crossed  upon  her  lap.  She  was  looking  intently 
into  the  fire,  as  if  she  saw  more  there  than  the  rising  and 
falling  flames,  which  now  illumined  her  face  until  its 
beauty  seemed  scarcely  earthly,  and  again  left  it  in 
shadow  that  suggested  almost  equal  loveliness. 

Her  revery  soon  ended  with  a  happy  smile  ;  she  picked 
up  her  work,  and  seemed  chiding  her  idle  hands  ;  then, 
in  obedience  to  another  impulse,  she  dropped  it  again, 
and  her  rich,  powerful  voice  gave  the  old  refrain, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

She  had  scarcely  sung  the  line  before  Saville  was  ac- 
companying her  on  his  flute.  She  stopped  abruptly,  and 
sprang  up,  with  hope  and  fear  both  depicted  on  her  face. 
Was  the  echo  real,  or  a  ghostly  omen  of  evil  ?  She 
darted  to  the  door,  and  Saville  took  her  into  his  arms. 

How  fondly  she  ever  dwelt  on  the  halcyon  days  that 
followed  !  They  hunted  and  rambled  together  among  the 
hills  that  love  made  beautiful,  even  in  bleak  Novem- 
ber ;  and  when  the  storms  of  early  winter  roared  in  the 
wooded  heights  above  the  cabin,  the  roar  of  the  crack- 
ling flames  up  the  wide  chimney  was  louder,  and  the  sound 


SEEMING  SUCCESS  317 

of  their  merry  voices  often  louder  still.  Their  mirthful- 
ness,  at  times,  relaxed  even  the  gloomy  face  of  the  poor 
exile,  and  he  appeared  to  enjoy  a  pale  reflection  of  their 
happiness. 

Saville  also  sought  to  make  the  most  of  the  opportunity 
which  this  visit  gave,  by  commencing  to  give  Vera  a  cul- 
ture which  would  make  her  more  companionable  in  future 
years.  He  gave  her  lessons  in  drawing  and  music,  and 
found  her  a  most  apt  scholar  in  these  branches.  He  also 
taught  her  how  to  express  herself  correctly  in  writing, 
and  in  the  evening  she  usually  read  aloud  to  him  for  an 
hour  or  more. 

He  succeeded  in  obtaining  quite  a  library  for  her. 
Learning  that  among  the  effects  of  a  wealthy  Tory,  whose 
property  had  been  confiscated,  there  was  a  large  number 
of  books,  he  went  to  see  them,  and  found  that  he  could 
buy  them  all  for  a  small  sum.  He  did  not  wish  them  all, 
but  only  such  as  would  serve  his  purpose,  and  give  Vera 
general  culture  and  knowledge,  without  strengthening 
her  faith.  To  his  joy,  he  found  that  the  library  was  quite 
rich,  for  that  day,  in  history,  travels,  biography,  and  even 
philosophy.  It  also  contained  some  of  the  Latin  classics, 
a  translation  of  Homer,  and  the  "Plays  of  William 
Shakespeare,"  which  he  knew  to  be  so  dear  to  Vera's 
heart.  He  and  Tascar,  who  accompanied  him,  were 
quite  well  laden  on  their  return  ;  and  Vera,  at  first,  was 
wild  with  delight  over  these  treasures.  She  looked  hastily 
and  eagerly  through  the  collection,  and  then  sighed 
deeply. 

"  What  does  that  mean?  "  asked  Saville. 

"  There  is  no  Bible  here,"  she  replied  in  a  low  tone. 

"  No,  Vera,"  he  said  gravely,  and  almost  sternly  ;  for 
he  was  beginning  to  regard  this  book  with  bitter  hostility, 
as  the  possible  cause,  in  his  view,  of  wretchedness  to  them 
both. 

Tears  came  into  the  sensitive  girl's  eyes  ;  but  he  kissed 


318  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

them  away,  and  sought,  with  his  usual  success,  to  divert 
her  thoughts  from  the  subject  he  most  dreaded.  He  be- 
lieved that  he  could  educate  her  mind  above  and  beyond 
her  superstition,  and  thus  enable  her  gradually  and  nat- 
urally to  outgrow  it,  as  he  supposed  that  he  had.  In  this 
effort,  he  made  history  and  books  of  travel  his  chief  allies, 
thinking  that  they  were  best  suited  to  the  simplicity  and 
childlike  character  of  her  mind.  He  skilfully,  yet  un- 
obtrusively, caused  her  to  see  that  other  peoples  and 
races  were  as  devoted  to  their  multifarious  religions  as  she 
was  to  hers.  He  placed  before  her,  though  in  no  argu- 
mentative way  that  would  awaken  opposition,  the  absurd, 
cruel,  and  monstrous  acts  of  those  who  had  professed  to 
be  Christians.  He  supplemented  what  he  read  with 
graphic  descriptions.  The  old  Greeks  and  Romans  were 
made  to  live  again,  and  she  was  shown  that  their  mythol- 
ogy, which  lasted  for  centuries,  was  now  in  truth  only  a 
myth,  and  that,  as  the  people  grew  wiser,  they  lost  faith 
in  their  gods. 

Vera  was  not  slow  in  drawing  the  inference,  and  clouds 
of  doubt  began  to  darken  her  mind  ;  but  it  seemed  so 
dreadful  to  question  her  mother's  faith,  that  she  fought 
against  her  unbelief  earnestly,  though  secretly  ;  for  she 
knew  that  she  could  obtain  no  help  from  Saville.  These 
doubts,  however,  became  a  low,  jarring  discord  in  the 
sweet  harmony  of  her  life. 

But  his  personal  influence  had  a  still  stronger  effect 
than  his  suggestion  of  abstract  thought,  and  of  facts  ad- 
verse to  her  faith.  He  one  day  obtained  quite  a  clear 
glimpse  of  the  silent  workings  of  her  mind  ;  for,  coming 
in  unexpectedly,  he  found  her  in  tears.  To  his  gentle 
bfit  eager  questioning,  she  sobbed, 

"  O  Theron  !  you  are  pushing  God,  and  all  relating  to 
him,  out  of  my  heart  and  thoughts,  and  I  am  beginning 
to  worship  only  you.  My  conscience  tells  me  that  it  is 
not  right,  and  that  evil  will  come  of  it." 


SEEMING  SUCCESS  319 

"  Well,  Vera,  darling,"  he  said,  "  this  is  scarcely  more 
than  fair,  since  you  fill  every  nook  and  corner  of  my  heart, 
and  I  have  long  worshiped  you  only." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  new  rush  of  tears  ;  but  he 
comforted  her  with  many  reassuring  words,  and  she  loved 
him  too  well  to  be  willing  to  cloud  his  face  with  her  trouble. 
Her  conscious  effort  to  resist  his  personal  influence  grew 
less  and  less,  and  he  seemingly  took  sole  possession  of 
her  heart. 

As  she  was  situated,  she  was  scarcely  to  be  blamed, 
for  he  had  proved  such  a  true  and  helpful  friend  ;  he  had 
made  such  an  infinite  difference  in  her  life,  and  was  so 
genuinely  human,  so  sympathetic  in  all  respects,  save 
the  one  on  which  they  differed,  that  her  own  humanity 
found  in  him  everything  it  craved.  Even  in  his  skepti- 
cism, she  was  compelled  to  respect  him  for  his  evident 
sincerity. 

Still,  she  did  not  lose  her  faith  in  God,  nor  did  she 
often  neglect  the  form  of  devotion ;  but  she  permitted 
Saville's  image  to  crowd  him  almost  wholly  from  her 
heart  and  thoughts. 

Saville  occasionally  sent  Tascar  with  a  note  of  inquiry  to 
burgeon  Jasper,  and  thus  kept  himself  posted  in  regard 
to  public  affairs.  During  the  latter  part  of  January,  he 
was  ordered  to  report  to  Lieutenant-Colonel  Radiere,  and 
found,  to  his  great  satisfaction,  that  his  services  would  be 
required  at  West  Point,  from  which  place  he  could  ride 
"  home  "  in  comparatively  brief  time.  The  winter  and 
spring  passed  rapidly  away.  His  hopes  continually  grew 
stronger,  that  his  effort  to  teach  Vera  to  eventually  feel 
and  think  as  he  did,  would  be  crowned  with  success,  and 
he  was  even  more  sure  that  he  had  made  himself  so 
necessary  to  her  very  existence  that  she  could  never  give 
him  up,  even  though  her  conscience  at  first  might  be  ar- 
rayed against  him. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

A   MASTER   MIND   AND   WILL 

EARLY  in  the  summer,  Saville  received  instructions  to 
go  to  the  main  army  under  General  Washington,  and 
thence  to  Philadelphia  (which  had  recently  been  evacu- 
ated by  the  British  troops),  upon  business  connected  with 
the  Engineer  Department. 

On  his  way  he  stopped  at  the  cabin,  to  inform  Vera  of 
his  journey,  but  assured  her  of  his  speedy  return.  She 
grew  pale  at  the  thought  of  the  possible  perils  which  he 
might  encounter,  but  he  promised  more  caution  than  it 
was  in  his  nature  to  practice,  and  also  said,  with  a  signif- 
icant glance,  that  awakened  a  curiosity  which  he  would 
not  then  satisfy,  that  he  would  bring  her  something  from 
Philadelphia. 

He  reached  General  Washington's  headquarters  on  the 
eve  of  the  memorable  battle  of  Monmouth.  Though 
jaded  and  worn  by  his  ride,  he  readily  accepted  Lafay- 
ette's invitation  to  act  as  his  aid,  his  services  being 
especially  valuable  at  this  time,  from  his  familiarity  with 
both  French  and  English. 

The  command  of  the  extreme  advance,  upon  which 
would  devolve  the  important  task  of  first  attacking  the 
enemy  preliminary  to  a  general  engagement,  would  prop- 
erly fall  to  General  Lee,  who  was  second  to  Washington 
in  rank.  But  Lafayette,  ever  coveting  the  post  of  dan- 
ger, eagerly  sought  to  be  intrusted  with  this  duty.  As 
General  Lee  had  been  from  the  first  strenuously  opposed 
to  the  battle,  and,  indeed,  to  any  interference  with  the 
British  line  of  march  through  New  Jersey,  Washington 


A  MASTER  MIND  AND  WILL       321 

was  more  than  ready  to  comply,  if  that  officer  would 
waive  his  right  to  lead  in  person.  This  General  Lee  did 
unhesitatingly,  saying  to  the  Marquis,  that  he  was  only 
too  glad  to  be  relieved  from  all  responsibility  in  carrying 
out  measures  which  were  destined  to  fail. 

Lafayette,  therefore,  early  on  the  morning  of  the  2/th 
of  June,  advanced  with  a  large  force  towards  the  enemy. 
The  British  troops  were  commanded  by  Sir  Henry 
Clinton,  who,  perceiving  that  a  battle  must  be  fought, 
made  his  dispositions  accordingly,  moving  his  baggage 
forward  on  his  line  of  march,  but  retaining  the  flower  of 
his  army  in  the  rear  to  repel  the  approaching  Americans. 
In  the  meantime,  General  Lee  changed  his  mind,  and  re- 
quested Washington  to  give  him  the  leadership  of  the  ad- 
vance which  he  had  just  relinquished.  Indeed,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  military  etiquette,  he  almost  claimed  it  as  his  right. 
Although  Lee  had  been  bitterly  opposed  to  Washington's 
plan  of  battle,  the  latter  still  believed  the  crotchety  gen- 
eral would  do  his  duty  as  an  officer,  but  did  not  know 
how  to  satisfy  his  punctilious  claims  without  wounding 
Lafayette.  Learning,  however,  that  the  British  forces 
immediately  before  the  Marquis  were  being  rapidly  in- 
creased, he  dispatched  two  additional  brigades  to  the 
front,  under  command  of  Lee,  who,  as  senior  officer  on 
the  field,  would,  as  a  matter  of  course,  outrank  all  others. 
But  Washington's  friendship  for  Lafayette  also  led  him  to 
write  him  a  note  of  explanation. 

That  sultry  Saturday  night  was  one  of  deep  anxiety  to 
both  parties.  The  British  general  was  encumbered  with 
an  enormous  amount  of  baggage.  Washington  was 
about  to  assail  the  disciplined  troops,  whom  Lee  said  it 
was  madness  to  attack  in  their  present  force  and  strong 
position. 

None  who  were  burdened  with  responsibility  slept,  and 
even  Saville,  though  very  weary,  was  kept  awake  by  the 
thought,  that  in  a  very  few  hours  he  might  enter  on  the 


322  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

dreamless  sleep  which  his  love  now  made  him  dread  un- 
speakably ;  and  that,  should  desperate  wounds  leave  him 
helpless  on  the  field,  Vera  was  too  far  away  to  seek  him 
again. 

At  midnight  there  was  a  stir  and  the  heavy  tread  of 
men.  Washington,  who  has  been  characterized  as  over- 
cautious, was  so  resolutely  bent  on  fighting  Clinton,  that 
he  had  sent  orders  for  a  large  detachment  to  move  up 
close  to  the  enemy's  lines,  and  to  hold  the  British  general 
in  check,  should  he  attempt  to  decamp  in  the  darkness. 

At  daylight,  expresses  galloped  to  Lee  and  to  Wash- 
ington with  the  tidings  that  the  enemy  were  moving. 
The  chief  put  the  main  army  into  motion  instantly,  and 
gave  orders  that  the  men  should  throw  aside  blankets  and 
every  impending  weight.  Lee  remained  inert  until  posi- 
tive orders  spurred  him  into  action.  He  then  advanced, 
it  is  true,  but  languidly,  very  cautiously,  without  defi- 
nite purpose,  and  without  concert  with  his  supporting 
generals. 

By  his  direction,  General  Wayne  gained  a  position 
where  he  was  certain  he  could  deal  the  enemy  a  tremen- 
dous blow  ;  but  was  checked  in  the  very  act  of  striking, 
that  Lee  himself  might  carry  out  a  brilliant  piece  of 
strategy,  which  ended,  however,  in  a  feeble  and  purpose- 
less demonstration. 

Lafayette  saw  an  opportunity  to  gain  the  rear  of  a 
body  of  the  enemy  marching  against  them,  and  spurred 
to  Lee,  that  he  might  obtain  permission  to  make  the  at- 
tempt. 

"Sir,"  was  the  reply,  "you  do  not  know  British  sol- 
diers ;  we  cannot  stand  against  them  ;  we  shall  certainly 
be  driven  back  at  first,  and  we  must  be  cautious." 

"  It  may  be  so,  General,"  Lafayette  replied  ;  "  but 
British  soldiers  have  been  beaten,  and  they  may  be  again  ; 
at  any  rate,  I  am  disposed  to  make  the  trial." 

Lee  then  gave   Lafayette  permission  to  carry  out  his 


A  MASTER  MIND  AND  WILL  '  323 

plan  in  part.  A  little  later,  one  of  Washington's  aids  ar- 
rived upon  the  field  in  quest  of  information,  and  the  Mar- 
quis sent  back  emphatic  word  to  his  chief  that  his  pres- 
ence was  needed. 

Before  the  halfway  measure  which  Lee  proposed  could 
be  carried  out,  the  permission  was  recalled,  and  the  gal- 
lant Frenchman  was  ordered  to  fall  back,  though  why 
he  could  not  tell.  He  chafed  like  a  chained  lion,  and 
now  felt  that  the  man  whom  he  must  obey  was  either  a 
traitor  or  a  coward. 

Saville  was  deeply  chagrined  ;  for  Lee,  from  his  out- 
spoken skepticism  and  innovating  tendencies,  was  one  of 
his  heroes. 

This  hesitation,  this  marching  and  countermarching, 
and  cautious  feeling  around,  gave  Sir  Henry  Clinton  just 
the  time  he  needed.  His  immense  train  of  baggage  was 
well  out  of  the  way,  guarded  by  a  strong  force  under 
General  Knyphausen,  so  he  now  decidedly  took  the  ini- 
tiative, by  hurling  the  bulk  of  his  army,  under  Lord 
Cornwallis,  against  the  dilatory  Americans,  who  had 
been  wasting  their  time  and  strength  in  purposeless  skir- 
mishing. 

The  whole  advance  guard  of  the  army  under  Lee  was 
soon  falling  back,  some  with  orders  and  some  without, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  the  retrograde  movement 
developed  into  a  disgraceful  retreat.  As  the  enemy 
pressed  faster  and  nearer,  panic  seized  upon  the  Conti- 
nental forces,  and  all  the  awful  consequences  followed  in- 
evitably. The  day  was  intensely  hot,  and  the  unclouded 
sun  smote  many  a  poor  fellow  to  the  earth  in  surer  death 
than  the  thickly-flying  bullets.  The  already  wearied 
men  sank  ankle-deep  into  the  yielding  sand,  and  those 
who,  through  feebleness,  wounds,  or  fatigue,  fell  in  the 
way,  were  trampled  by  the  strong  in  their  reckless  flight. 

And  yet  Washington  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  There 
had  been  no  indications  of  heavy  fighting  in  his  front. 


324  .  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

To  all  the  wretched  blunders  of  that  morning  Lee  added 
the  most  unpardonable,  when  he  failed  to  inform  his  chief 
that  he  was  falling  back  ;  for  he  thereby  endangered  the 
entire  army. 

The  first  intimation  that  Washington  received  of  what 
had  occurred  was  the  appearance  of  breathless,  terror- 
stricken  fugitives.  \Vith  rare  presence  of  mind,  he  or- 
dered them  under  arrest,  lest  they  should  communicate 
their  tidings  to  the  main  body  of  the  army,  which  was  ad- 
vancing to  Lee's  support ;  for  there  is  no  contagion  so 
mysterious  and  awfully  rapid  in  its  transmission  as  that 
of  a  panic. 

Still  hoping  that  the  report  was  unfounded,  he  sprang 
upon  his  horse,  and  spurred  towards  the  front ;  but  the 
increasing  stream  of  fugitives,  and  then  the  heads  of  the 
retreating  columns,  soon  convinced  him  that  the  disaster 
which  he  believed  impossible  had  taken  place.  He  asked 
several  officers  in  the  retreating  column  what  it  all  meant. 
No  one  knew.  One  smiled  significantly,  another  was 
angry,  while  a  third  declared,  with  an  oath,  that  "they 
were  flying  from  a  shadow." 

Washington  was  ever  slow  to  suspect  others  of  evil,  but 
the  thought  now  flashed  into  his  mind  that  Lee  was 
making  good  his  predictions  of  defeat,  by  his  own  cow- 
ardly or  treacherous  action.  He  stopped  to  ask  no 
more  questions,  but,  ordering  the  commander  of  the  first 
division  to  form  his  men  on  the  first  rising  ground,  he, 
with  his  staff,  swept  across  the  causeway,  past  the  disor- 
derly fugitives,  his  anger  kindling  as  he  rode.  The 
frown  upon  his  brow  grew  black  as  night,  and  by  the 
time  he  reached  Lee,  who  was  leading  the  retreat  of  the 
second  division,  his  appearance  was  terrible.  Saville, 
who  rode  near,  with  Lafayette,  was  deeply  awed,  and, 
were  not  the  proof  before  him,  could  not  have  believed 
that  a  human  face  could  become  so  powerful  in  its  indig- 
nation. 


A  MASTER  MIND  AND  WILL  325 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this,  sir?"  Washington 
demanded,  in  a  tone  that  was  stern  even  to  fierceness. 

"Sir — sir,"  stammered  Lee,  at  first  overwhelmed  by 
Washington's  manner. 

"I  desire  to  know  the  meaning  of  this  disorder  and 
confusion,"  was  again  demanded,  and  with  still  greater 
vehemence. 

"  You  know  that  the  attack  was  contrary  to  my  advice 
and  opinion "  Lee  began. 

"  You  should  not  have  undertaken  the  command,  un- 
less you  intended  to  carry  it  through." 

Lee's  irascible  spirit  was  now  stung  to  rage,  and  he 
made  an  angry  reply,  which  drew  from  Washington  still 
sharper  expressions.  For  a  moment,  the  incensed  gen- 
erals confronted  each  other,  like  two  thunder-clouds  that 
are  flashing  their  lightnings  back  and  forth,  as  if  within 
the  dark  folds  of  each  there  was  a  vindictive  will. 

Lee  sought  to  give  a  hurried  explanation,  which  ended 
with  the  assertion  that  the  ground  was  unfavorable,  and 
that  he  was  not  disposed  to  beard  the  whole  British  army 
with  troops  in  such  a  situation. 

"  I  have  certain  information,"  rejoined  Washington, 
41  that  it  was  merely  a  strong  covering  party." 

"That  may  be  ;  but  it  was  stronger  than  mine,  and  I 
did  not  think  proper  to  run  such  a  risk." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  was  the  reply  "  that  you  undertook 
the  command,  unless  you  meant  to  fight  the  enemy." 

"  I  did  not  think  it  prudent  to  bring  on  a  general  en- 
gagement." 

"  Whatever  your  opinion  may  have  been,"  answered 
Washington  disdainfully,  "  I  expected  my  orders  would 
have  been  obeyed." 

All  this  had  passed  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  and, 
as  it  were,  in  flashes,  and  yet  too  much  time  had  been 
wasted,  for  the  enemy  were  but  a  few  minutes'  march 
away  from  them.  Casting  Lee  aside,  as  he  might  a 


326  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

broken  reed,  Washington  ordered  that  the  head  of  the 
second  division,  instead  of  continuing  its  retreat,  should 
form  instantly  in  line  of  battle.  Then,  wheeling  his  horse, 
he  dashed  to  the  rear  of  the  American  column,  and 
towards  the  advancing  enemy,  who  were  now  close  upon 
the  confused  and  disordered  remnant  of  Lee's  troops. 

Until  Washington  appeared,  the  poor  fellows  were  in 
sore  straits.  Their  retreat  had  been  checked  ;  they  were 
standing  helplessly  in  the  road,  artillery  and  infantry 
huddled  together.  No  one  knew  what  to  do,  or  how  the 
miserable  blundering  of  the  day  would  end.  Only  one 
thing  was  definite  and  certain — the  solid  columns  of  their 
pursuers  were  now  almost  upon  them.  They  were  on  the 
eve  of  a  headlong  and  disastrous  flight,  when  Washing- 
ton, with  his  staff,  galloped  up,  and  his  presence  and  in- 
spiring mien  sent  an  electric  thrill  of  hope  and  courage  to 
every  fainting  heart.  The  great  mastermind,  aroused  to 
its  highest  degree  of  power,  seemed  to  lay  a  resistless 
grasp  upon  the  whole  chaotic  mass.  It  appeared  but  a 
moment  before  Colonel  Oswald's  guns  were  posted  on  a 
neighboring  eminence,  were  unlimbered,  and  were  pour- 
ing well-directed  shots  into  the  advancing  foe.  Two  other 
batteries  galloped  off  to  the  left,  and  taking  position  in 
the  covert  of  woods,  were  soon  adding  their  tremendous 
echoes  to  the  deepening  uproar  of  battle.  In  the  mean- 
time, and  under  a  perfect  storm  of  bullets  and  cannon 
balls,  the  intrepid  chief  formed  the  regiments  of  Colonels 
Stewart  and  Ramsay  in  line,  and  enabled  them  to  reply 
to  the  destructive  volleys  they  were  receiving.  He  seemed 
to  bear  the  same  charmed  life  that  had  excited  the  super- 
stitious wonder  of  the  savages  on  Braddock's  disastrous 
field  in  the  old  French  and  Indian  war.  Within  a  space 
ef  time  so  brief  as  to  appear  incredible,  he  had  rallied  into 
battle  array  fugitives  that,  a  few  moments  before,  were 
bent  only  on  flight,  and  the  impetuous  advance  of  the 
enemy  was  checked. 


A  MASTER  MIND  AND   WILL  327 

Having  made  all  the  arrangements  within  his  power, 
this  born  commander  of  men  did  a  still  greater  thing  :  he 
controlled  himself.  Riding  back  to  Lee,  in  calmer  mood, 
he  asked, 

"Will  you  retain  the  command  on  this  height  or  not? 
If  you  will,  I  will  return  to  the  main  body,  and  have  it 
formed  on  the  next  height." 

"  It  is  equal  to  me  where  I  command,"  replied  Lee. 

"  I  expect  you  will  take  proper  means  for  checking  the 
enemy,"  said  Washington. 

"  Your  orders  shall  be  obeyed  ;  and  I  shall  not  be  the 
first  to  leave  the  ground." 

Availing  himself  of  the  respite  which  his  own  masterly 
action  had  secured,  Washington  spurred  back  to  the  main 
army,  which,  under  his  rapid  orders,  soon  bristled  along 
the  next  height. 

But  he  had  left  something  of  his  own  iron  will  among 
those  who  were  now  sustaining  the  enemy's  attack.  His 
clarion  voice,  which  had  resounded  above  the  din,  was 
still  echoing  in  their  hearts,  and  the  grand  excitement 
which  had  animated  his  face  made  a  hero  of  every  soldier 
in  the  little  force  which  the  enemy's  bullets  were  fast 
thiivning. 

They  maintained  their  position  gallantly  for  some  little 
time,  and  when,  at  last,  the  left  wing  gave  way,  pushed 
back  by  the  weight  of  numbers,  and  emerged  on  the 
further  side  of  the  woods  towards  Washington,  both  of 
the  contending  parties  seemed  intermingled  in  a  hand-to- 
hand  melee. 

The  enemy  next  attacked  Varnum's  brigade,  posted 
near  the  causeway,  across  which  the  Americans  must 
retreat,  and  here  the  conflict  raged  severely  for  some 
time. 

As  Saville  was  carrying  an  order  ocross  the  field  to  a 
battery  that  was  doing  effective  service,  he  was  hailed  by 
a  familiar  voice,  and  turning,  saw  his  old  acquaintance, 


328  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Captain  Molly,  coming  towards  him  with  a  bucket  of 
water. 

"The  Holy  Vargin  bless  ye,  Misther  Saville !  "  she 
cried.  "  I  fale  safe,  now  I  know  that  ye're  around." 

"  Ah,  Molly,  my  brave  girl !  is  that  you?  "  he  replied. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Faix,  sur,  while  Larry  is  givin'  the  Red-coats  fire, 
I'm  givin'  him  wather." 

"  Can  you  spare  me  a  drop  ?  for  I'm  half  perished  with 
thirst  in  this  infernal  heat  and  dust." 

"Take  all  ye  want,  and  welcome.  What  are  a  few 
dhraps  of  wather,  when  ye  spilt  yer  blood  for  me  ?  " 

"  Molly,  you  are  a  jewel !  What  did  you  do  for  me  ? 
Larry  may  well  be  proud  of  you." 

"  Och  !  poor  man  !     I'm  better  to  him  now " 

A  cannon  ball  was  whizzing  towards  them  ;  a  second 
later,  Larry  was  a  bleeding  corpse  beside  his  gun. 

Molly  saw  him  fall  as  she  turned.  With  a  wild  shriek 
she  dropped  her  pail,  rushed  to  his  side,  and  throwing 
herself  upon  his  mangled  form,  gave  utterance  to  loud 
cries  of  grief. 

The  officer  in  charge  of  the  battery  was  about  to 
withdraw  the  gun,  as  he  now  had  no  one  competent  to 
work  it  ;  but  Molly,  obeying  another  impulse,  sprang  up, 
and  dashing  her  tears  right  and  left,  cried, 

"  No,  yer  honor  !  I'll  take  Larry's  place,  and  it'll  do 
me  sore  heart  good  to  send  some  o'  thim  Red-coats,  as 
killed  him,  to  the  divil ;  "  and  she  seized  the  rammer, 
and  proved  instantly  that  she  had  nerve  and  skill  for  the 
task.  With  her  dark,  piercing  eyes  ablaze  with  anger, 
and  her  disheveled  hair  flying  about  her  inflamed  face, 
she  seemed  a  fury  rather  than  a  woman.  When  Saville 
left,  the  rapid  discharges  of  the  gun  told  how  eagerly 
she  was  seeking  to  avenge  the  death  of  her  husband. 

The  British  cavalry,  and  a  heavy  body  of  infantry  at 
last  charged  simultaneously,  and  broke  the  American 


A  MASTER  MIND  AND  WILL  329 

ranks.  Lee  ordered  instant  retreat,  and,  with  Colonel 
Ogden's  regiment,  covered  the  passage  of  his  men  across 
the  causeway. 

Molly  would  not  leave  her  husband's  body,  but  lifting 
it  on  the  gun,  she  tied  it  there,  and  then,  by  running, 
kept  near  to  the  retiring  battery,  the  troops  greeting  her 
with  acclamations  as  she  passed. 

The  British  forces  promptly  followed  the  hard-pressed 
Continentals  over  the  causeway,  anticipating  a  complete 
victory,  and  the  battle  speedily  became  general.  But 
Washington  was  now  upon  his  own  ground,  and  sup- 
ported by  generals  in  whom  he  could  trust  implicitly. 
The  enemy  made  successive  attacks  on  his  front,  left 
and  right,  but  were  repelled.  A  tremendous  cannonade 
was  kept  up  on  both  sides,  and  seldom  had  the  peace  of 
the  Sabbath  been  so  rudely  disturbed  as  on  that  sultry 
summer  day. 

General  Wayne,  whose  headlong  valor  had  justly 
earned  him  the  sobriquet  of  "  Mad  Anthony,"  occupied 
an  advanced  position  in  an  orchard,  from  which  he 
maintained  a  brisk  and  galling  fire  on  the  British  centre. 
He  repeatedly  repulsed  the  Royal  Grenadiers,  who 
sought  to  dislodge  him.  It  soon  began  to  appear  that 
the  success  of  the  enemy's  attack  depended  on  driving 
him  from  his  position. 

Saville  was  directed  by  Lafayette  to  ride  over  to 
Wayne  with  a  cheering  message,  to  watch  the  struggle, 
and  report  to  him  its  progress. 

When  Saville  reached  Wayne's  advanced  post,  Colo- 
nel Moncton,  who  commanded  the  Royal  Grenadiers, 
was  deploying  them  in  the  open  field,  as  for  a  quiet 
evening  parade.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  preparing 
for  the  stern  and  silent  use  of  the  bayonet,  on  which  the 
British  troops  justly  prided  themselves. 

When  his  men  were  in  line,  he  made  them  a  brief, 
stirring  address,  in  which  he  appealed  to  every  motive 


330  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

which  could  inspire  an  English  soldier  with  unflinching 
courage.  His  voice  was  distinctly  heard  by  those 
awaiting  the  assault,  and  at  times  even  his  words  were 
intelligible.  He  next  placed  himself  at  their  head,  and 
led  them  in  solid  column  against  the  Americans.  They 
presented  a  truly  magnificent  sight  in  the  warm,  mellow 
light  of  the  declining  day.  With  the  same  firmness  and 
steadiness  that  they  would  pass  in  review  on  some  gala 
occasion,  the  poor  fellows  advanced  towards  the  point 
where  very  many  would  meet  wounds  and  death.  So 
even  and  perfect  was  their  step,  as  they  marched  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  that  a  cannon  ball  from  an  American  bat- 
tery enfiladed  a  whole  platoon,  knocking  the  muskets 
out  of  each  man's  hand  ;  but,  with  scarce  a  change  in 
muscle,  the  obscure  heroes  strode  on  with  their  com- 
rades, although  unarmed.  Moncton  walked  at  their 
head,  erect,  stately,  resolute,  and  his  bearing  was  em- 
ulated by  every  officer  in  the  column.  Their  silent  prog- 
ress was  more  impressive  than  if  every  step  was  ac- 
companied by  shouts  and  volleys.  Their  march  was 
the  very  sublimity  of  courage,  the  perfect  flower  of 
discipline,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  must  be  resistless. 

They  are  now  within  a  few  rods  of  their  equally  silent, 
waiting  foe  ;  and  yet  there  is  no  hesitation,  no  change  in 
the  time  of  their  strong,  steady  tramp.  They  are  now 
so  near  that  the  opposing  ranks  can  look  into  each 
other's  begrimed  and  heat-swollen  faces.  The  same 
stern  resolve  characterizes  the  countenances  of  each 
dark  array.  To  distant  spectators  the  two  clouds  of  war 
seem  almost  together  ;  the  lightning  flashes  must  come 
soon. 

The  American  firelocks  are  leveled,  not  evenly,  cover- 
ing the  whole  advancing  column,  but  concentrating  on 
every  officer  visible.  They  are  but  a  few  yards  away. 
Suddenly  Moncton  steps  to  the  right,  waves  his  sword 
aloft,  and  shouts, 


A  MASTER  MIND  AND  WILL  331 

"Charge  !" 

Wayne's  signal  is  equally  prompt.  A  volley  from  the 
whole  length  of  his  line  rings  out ;  then,  lowering  their 
empty  pieces,  his  men  rushed  forward  to  meet  the  com- 
ing shock  with  answering  bayonet  thrust. 

Moncton  fell,  and  also  almost  every  other  British  officer  ; 
but  his  heroic  column,  stunned  but  for  a  moment, 
pressed  on,  and  there  was  at  once  a  desperate  hand-to- 
hand  conflict  over  the  prostrate  commander,  one  party 
seeking  to  retain,  and  the  other  to  obtain  his  body.  At 
last  the  Continentals  secured  the  lifeless  form  of  the 
gallant  colonel,  and  carried  it  to  the  rear. 

If  the  English  courage  was  steady  and  unflinching, 
that  of  the  Americans  was  reckless  and  enthusiastic. 
Gradually  they  pushed  back  the  struggling  and  almost 
unofficered  grenadiers,  until,  convinced  that  their  assault 
had  failed,  they  gave  way.  This  practically  decided 
the  fate  of  the  day.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  the 
British  forces  soon  retired  to  the  height  whereon  Wash- 
ington had  rallied  Lee's  disordered  troops  in  the  morn- 
ing. Throughout  the  long  twilight,  something  of  the 
Sabbath's  stillness  settled  down  on  a  region  that  had, 
throughout  the  day,  resounded  with  the  horrid  din  of  war. 
The  battle-field,  and  the  whole  line  of  Lee's  disastrous 
retreat,  presented  one  strange  feature.  There  were 
wounded  and  mangled  bodies  in  abundance,  but  every- 
where were  found  men  dead  or  helpless,  without  a 
scratch  upon  their  persons.  The  torrid  sun  had  smote 
both  parties  as  with  the  wrath  of  heaven. 

Washington  and  his  suite  lay  down  under  a  broad  oak, 
with  the  dead  all  around  them,  intending  to  renew  the 
conflict  with  the  light  of  the  following  morning ;  but, 
while  the  Americans,  from  the  fatigues  of  the  day, 
were  sunk  in  oblivion  almost  as  deep  as  that  of  those 
whom  the  morning  reveille  could  not  awaken,  Clinton 
stole  away  with  his  baffled  army,  leaving  his  severely 


332  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

wounded  to  the  mercy  of  his  foes.  When,  at  daybreak, 
the  advance  was  sounded,  the  Americans  found  only 
the  deserted  campaign  ground. 

It  was  a  drawn  battle  ;  but,  if  Lafayette  had  com- 
manded the  advance  instead  of  Lee,  and  had  Morgan, 
with  his  brave  riflemen — who,  but  three  miles  distant, 
chafed  all  day  without  orders — attacked  the  enemy's 
rear,  history  might  have  given  a  different  record. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   REVELATION 

SAVILLE  was  naturally  brave,  but  no  man  ever  had  a 
greater  sense  of  gladness  than  he  at  having  passed  un- 
scathed through  the  manifold  perils  of  the  day.  Though 
wearied  to  the  point  of  exhaustion,  at  the  close  of  the 
battle,  he  sought  Molly,  as  soon  as  his  duties  permitted, 
and  tried  to  comfort  the  poor  creature.  He  found  her 
crooning  and  wailing  by  turns,  at  the  side  of  her  hus- 
band's body. 

"Ah  !  Misther  Saville,"  she  said,  "  it's  now  I  think  on 
ivery  oncivil  word  iver  I  spake  to  him.  If  I  could  only 
have  him  aloive  once  more,  I'd  be  swater  than  honey  all 
the  toime.  Faix,  sur,  Larry  was  a  kind,  dacent  man, 
an'  I'll  niver  git  his  loikes  agin." 

The  story  of  Molly's  action  on  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band had  spread  like  wildfire  through  the  army,  and  on 
the  following  morning  General  Greene  presented  her,  all 
begrimed  with  powder  and  blood,  to  Washington,  who, 
with  words  of  praise  and  sympathy,  conferred  on  her  the 
commission  of  sergeant,  while  he  afterwards  caused  her 
name  to  be  placed  upon  the  list  of  half-pay  officers  for 
life. 

Saville  saw  that  Larry  had  a  soldier's  burial,  and  then 
gave  Molly  the  means  of  defraying  her  expenses  back  to 
her  home  in  the  Highlands,  to  which  she  soon  returned. 
Immediately  after  her  arrival  thither,  she  went  out  to  see 
Vera,  to  whom  she  related,  with  all  the  vividness  of  her 
demonstrative  style,  the  events  of  the  battle,  enlarging 
Upon  her  own  loss,  the  dangers  to  which  Saville  had 
been  exposed,  and  his  kindness  to  her. 


334  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Her  tidings,  while  in  part  reassuring,  threw  Vera  into 
an  agony  of  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  her  lover.  Now, 
in  his  absence,  she  realized,  as  never  before,  how  neces- 
sary he  was  to  her  very  existence  ;  and  again,  with  her 
old  importunity,  she  besought  Heaven  in  his  behalf, 
though  not  with  her  old  and  simple  faith ;  and  she 
watched  for  his  return  with  almost  sleepless  vigilance. 

In  the  meantime,  Saville,  finding  that  there  was  no 
further  prospect  of  fighting,  proceeded  on  his  journey  to 
Philadelphia,  and,  after  attending  to  his  official  business, 
purchased  a  beautiful  ring  for  Vera.  Returning,  he 
taxed  his  poor  horse  heavily,  in  his  impatience  to  see 
again  the  one  who  grew  dearer  every  day.  The  dangers 
he  had  passed  through,  and  the  uncertainty  of  life  in 
that  stormy  period,  made  him  feel  that  he  could  delay 
the  consummation  of  his  love  no  longer,  and  he  half 
resolved  to  put  his  hopes  to  the  test  on  his  return.  By 
rapid  riding,  he  gained  sufficient  time  to  enable  him  to 
spend  a  day  or  two  at  the  cabin,  and  still  report  as  early 
as  he  was  expected. 

When  he  met  Vera,  he  found  that  the  knowledge  of 
what  he  had  passed  through  had  preceded  him.  Never 
before  had  her  reception  been  so  marked  by  a  clinging 
tenderness,  and  he  thought  exultantly,  "  She  cannot  give 
me  up."  But  she  soon  clouded  his  face  and  hopes  by 
saying, 

"O  Theron !  God  does  answer  prayer.  It  seems  to 
me  that  I  have  entreated  him  in  your  behalf  even  in  my 
troubled  dreams,  as  well  as  in  every  waking  moment, 
and  he  has  spared  you  to  me." 

"  Is  her  faith  still  so  unshaken  in  a  mere  name  ?  "  he 
sadly  asked  himself.  "  Will  it  ever  be  otherwise  ?  " 

After  an  early  supper,  he  led  her  out  to  one  of  their 
favorite  haunts  upon  the  hillside,  and  gave  her  the  ring 
he  had  brought.  He  was  pleased  to  see  her  unbounded 
delight  and  gratitude,  and  he  said, 


THE  REVELATION  335 

••  When  you  no  longer  wish  my  love,  you  may  return 
this  ring  to  me." 

"  You  will  never  receive  it  again,"  she  answered,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes  ;  "  for  if  I  were  dying,  Theron,  I  could 
not  give  it  back  on  that  condition." 

It  proved  a  little  too  large,  but  she  obviated  this  defect 
by  drawing  off  the  ring  given  by  her  mother,  and  then, 
putting  Saville's  gift  in  its  place,  she  kept  it  there  by  the 
plain  gold  band  which  she  had  worn  so  long. 

"That  is  the  way  it  should  be,"  she  said;  "for  I 
have  felt  from  the  first  that  I  had  mother's  approval  of 
my  love."  Then  she  added  musingly,  "  How  well  I  re- 
member her  words  when  she  gave  me  this  ring  !  " 

"  What  were  they,  Vera?  " 

She  blushed  deeply,  for  she  had  spoken  half  uncon- 
sciously, not  realizing  the  nature  of  the  explanation  that 
must  follow. 

"  Tell  me  her  words,"  Saville  again  gently  asked. 

"  They  remind  me  that  I  have,  in  part,  disobeyed 
them,  Theron  ;  but  I  trusted  you  so  completely,  and  all 
has  happened  so  strangely  and  differently  from  what  any 
one  could  have  anticipated,  that  I  could  not  do  other- 
wise." 

His  curiosity  and  hope  were  now  both  aroused.  Was 
the  way  opening  for  explanations  that,  in  any  event, 
must  soon  come  ?  So  he  said, 

"  I  know  you  have  acted  right,  darling.  Were  your 
mother  living,  she  could  have  found  no  fault ;  but  what 
did  she  say  when  she  gave  the  ring  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  hide  anything  from  you,  Theron,"  she  said, 
turning  away  her  face.  "You  must  remember  the 
circumstances.  e  Mother  was  leaving  me  alone  and  friend- 
less. She  feared  I  would  be  peculiarly  unshielded.  I 
would  have  been  but  for  you.  Think  of  what  I  passed 
through  in  your  long  year  of  absence  !  think  of  the  con- 
dition in  which  you  found  me  !  O  Theron  !  how  much 


336  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

I  owe  to  you.  Well,  mother  evidently  feared  I  might 
meet  with  some  one  not  so  honorable  as  you  are,  and 
she  made  me  promise  that  I  would  not  permit  caresses, 
even  from  one  I  loved,  until  he  should  wed  me  before 
God's  minister  with  this  ring.  I  readily  gave  the  promise, 
for  I  did  not  then  know  what  love  was.  But  I  could  not 
keep  it.  When  you  raised  me  from  the  floor,  the  night 
father  spoke  those  dreadful  words,  I  knew  I  could  trust 
you.  I  turned  to  you  as  instinctively  as  that  climbing 
vine  to  yonder  oak.  I  could  not  help  it,  and  I  knew 
that  all  would  be  as  mother  wished  in  your  own  good 
time." 

As  she  spoke  he  grew  very  pale,  and,  at  her  last 
words,  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  with  a  deep  groan. 
It  seemed,  for  the  moment,  as  if  the  dead  mother  stood 
between  him  and  her  child. 

• '  Theron  !  ' '  she  said  in  great  alarm. 

He  did' not  answer. 

"Theron,  are  you  ill?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  sick  at  heart  ;  my  evil  destiny  will  conquer 
yet." 

"O  Theron!  "  she  pleaded,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder;  "tell  me  your  trouble.  You  need  dread  no 
evil  that  I  can  avert." 

"  If  that  were  only  true,"  he  answered,  looking  at  her 
with  a  face  so  full  of  trouble  that  her  tears  started  in 
sympathy. 

"  How  can  it  be  otherwise  than  true  ? "  she  asked,  be- 
ginning to  dread,  she  knew  not  what.  "  Can  you  think 
me  so  ungrateful  that  I  will  not  make  any  sacrifice  for 
you  ? " 

"You  will  never  be  ungrateful,  Vera,  and  you  have 
had,  thus  far,  no  more  cause  for  gratitude  than  I  have  ; 
but  I  fear  you  cannot — mark,  I  do  not  say  will  not — I 
fear  you  cannot  give  up  your  superstition — your  faith  in 
what  I  am  sure  is  all  delusion — for  my  sake  ;  and  yet 


TEE  REVELATION  337 

you  must,  or  else  the  chance  for  a  happiness  greater 
than  I  thought  possible  passes  away  from  both." 

"  Theron,  your  words  are  as  dark  as  night.  What  can 
you  mean?  Why  are  you  so  pale  ?  "  cried  Vera  in  great 
distress. 

"  I  may  as  well  tell  you  now,"  he  said,  after  a  mo-' 
ment,  "  what  I  have  been  on  the  point  of  telling  you  be- 
fore ;  but  I  hesitated,  as  much  for  your  sake  as  my  own. 
I  could  no  more  endure  the  thought  of  your  losing  this 
happy  future  than  of  losing  it  myself;  and  I  hoped  that 
in  time,  and  under  greater  enlightenment  of  mind,  you 
would  outgrow  the  imaginary  obstacles  in  the  way.  I 
too  have  broken  the  letter  of  a  promise  that  I  made  you  at 
your  mother's  grave.  I  said,  in  effect,  that  I  would  not 
try  to  lead  you  to  forget  or  depart  from  her  teachings ; 
nor  would  I,  save  in  one  respect,  for  her  influence  and 
that  of  nature  have  made  you  the  sweetest,  purest 
woman  that  ever  breathed.  But  I  could  not  be  loyal  to 
you  and  to  your  happiness  and  still  keep  that  hasty 
pledge,  for  since  that  day  our  mutual  love  has  grown  till 
it  absorbs  us  both,  and  in  the  wretched  past  an  event  oc- 
curred which  would  render  the  consummation  of  our  love 
impossible,  did  I  leave  your  baseless  faith  undisturbed. 
While  it  comforted  you  after  your  mother's  death,  I  kept 
the  promise.  When,  ere  we  were  aware,  we  both  began 
to  love  each  other  in  such  a  way  that  the  terms  brother 
and  sister  no  longer  meant  the  truth  ;  when  your  father's 
words  taught  me  that  this  wilderness  must  continue  to  be 
your  home,  and  that  the  position  in  society,  which  I  that 
day  had  resolved  you  should  have,  became  impossible, 
then  I  commenced  trying  to  teach  you  what  I  firmly  be- 
lieve myself.  I  could  sacrifice  my  own  happiness  ;  I  had 
decided  to  do  so,  and  your  quick  intuition  read  my  de- 
cision in  my  face.  And  yet  how  glad  I  was  that  I  saw, 
as  I  believed,  a  way  in  which  we  both  could  be  happy 
by  becoming  one  for  life  !  I  then  tried  to  undermine 


338  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

your  delusion  ;  I  sought  to  do  it  gently,  that  your  old  be- 
liefs might  pass  away  as  clouds  from  the  sky." 

Just  then,  in  ominous  contradiction  of  his  words,  the 
setting  sun  entered  a  dark  cloud,  and  the  gloom  fell  on 
the  faces  of  both. 

"  Vera,  before  I  saw  you  I  thought  I  had  spoiled  my 
life  ;  not  by  a  crime,  but  by  an  act  of  folly.  It  is  for  you 
to  decide  whether  my  life  is  to  be  blighted  by  its  conse- 
quences ;  for  your  sake — not  my  own  ;  my  pure,  strong 
love  needs  no  priestly  sanction — for  your  sake,  it  cuts  me 
to  the  heart  to  say  it.  I  cannot,  in  truth,  take  you  before 
a  minister  and  wed  you,  with  that  ring.  While  my  heart 
is  free  to  love  you,  in  the  eye  of  our  barbarous  laws  I  am 
a  married  man." 

She  started  violently  and  became  deathly  pale,  but  she 
only  moaned, 

"  O  Theron,  Theron  !  I  should  have  known  this  be- 
fore." 

"  Hear  me,  hear  the  whole  wretched  story,  before  you 
condemn  me!  "  he  cried  passionately.  "  I  could  have 
brought  a  minister  hither,  and  it^might  have  been  years 
before  you  learned  the  truth,  if  ever  ;  but  no  deceit  shall 
ever  sully  my  relations  to  you.  When  we  were  first  ac- 
quainted, I  did  not  tell  you  of  my  wife,  because  I  never 
spoke  of  her  to  any  one,  not  even  to  my  mother.  I  was 
seeking  to  forget  her  hateful  existence.  When  your 
father's  words  and  your  decision  to  remain  with  him  pre- 
vented me  from  carrying  out  my  self-sacrificing  plan,  then 
the  thought  came  :  Teach  her  the  truth,  show  her  how 
valueless  are  the  forms  and  ceremonies  which  are  based 
on  falsehood." 

"  But  they  are  right  and  true  to  me,"  said  Vera  sobbing. 

"  They  cannot  continue  to  be  so,  darling,  after  you 
have  calmly  considered  the  proof  to  the  contrary  ;  and 
when  you  come  to  know  how  cruelly  I  am  placed,  how 
utterly  I  am  absolved  from  every  bond  save  that  which  is 


THE  REVELATION  339 

purely  legal,  you  will  have  pity  ;  you  will  see  that  I  have 
a  right  to  seek  your  love."  And  he  told  her  the  whole 
story  of  his  marriage,  softening  no  part  that  was  to  his  own 
disadvantage  ;  he  spoke  with  intense  bitterness  of  his 
wife's  recent  and  shameful  marriage  at  the  very  time 
when  he  owed  his  life  to  Vera's  tireless  care  ;  "  and  this 
marriage,"  he  said,  "  was  solemnized  with  all  the  forms 
that  are  called  sacred. 

"  And  now,  Vera,"  he  concluded,  "  how  could  I  have 
acted  otherwise  ?  I  believe  that  this  life  is  all.  It  is  all,"*- 
he  said  earnestly  ;  ' '  everything  in  nature  proves  it.  We 
have  before  us  but  this  brief  life.  Alas  !  in  my  calling, 
how  uncertain  it  is !  Since  our  short  day  must  pass 
swiftly  at  best,  shall  we  waste  our  waking  moments  over 
delusions  ?  Shall  we  let  what  men  imagined  in  the  igno- 
rant past  stand  in  the  way  of  real  and  practical  happiness  ? 
Only  obstacles  created  by  the  untaught  minds  of  the 
superstitious  are  standing  in  our  way.  Shall  these  unsub- 
stantial spectres  frighten  us  from  a  lifetime  of  deep  con- 
tent? In  a  little  while  we  shall  cease  to  be,  and  the 
chance  for  happiness  is  gone." 

But  Vera  drew  another  inference  than  that  which  he  in- 
tended, and  in  a  tone  that  pierced  his  heart  she  cried, 

"  Then  where  is  mother  ?  " 

He  was  silent,  for  her  distress  was  so  great  that  it 
seemed  a  cruel  thing  to  say  that  all  that  remained  of  one 
so  dear  was  corrupting  in  a  distant  grave.  He  never 
realized  before  how  harsh  and  abrupt  an  end  his  creed 
gave  to  human  life.  He  tried  to  comfort  himself  with  the 
thought  that  her  intense  grief  would  gradually  pass  away, 
and  that  realizing  that  she  had  in  sad  truth  lost  her 
mother,  she  would  cling  all  the  more  closely  to  him  as  her 
only  certain  possession. 

He  endeavored  to  soothe  her,  but  for  a  long  time  his 
efforts  seemed  utterly  vain.  At  last  she  grew  calm 
enough  to  falter, 


340  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  I  am  in  the  dark,  Theron.  It  seems  as  if  the  moun- 
tain had  opened  at  my  feet.  I  dare  not  move  lest  I  fall 
into  the  gulf.  I  don't  know  what's  right,  I  don't  know 
what's  true  ;  my  mind  is  confused,  and  my  heartaches  as 
if  it  would  break.  O  mother  !  are  you  indeed  lost  to  me 
forever?  If  you  should  die,  Theron,  would  I  never  see 
you  again?  This  is  terrible,  terrible.  Please  take  me 
home.  I  cannot  think.  Perhaps  to-morrow  some  light 
will  come.  I  am  in  thick  darkness  now." 

He  could  only  comply  with  her  request,  and  hope  that 
time  and  thought  would  become  his  allies.  She  told  her 
father  that  she  was  not  well,  and  shut  herself  up  in  her 
own  little  room  ;  but  for  hours  her  mind  was  so  stunned 
and  bewildered  that  it  could  not  act  coherently. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

GROPING   HER   WAY 

THE  night  to  Saville  was  one  of  sleepless  anxiety.  He 
felt  that  he  was  at  the  crisis  of  his  life.  Indeed,  if  Vera 
gave  him  back  his  ring,  saying  that,  under  the  circum- 
stances, she  could  not  accept  of  his  love,  what  would  life 
be  but  a  painful  burden  ?  The  result  of  the  council 
which  he  knew  her  to  be  holding  with  her  own  heart,  and 
the  mysterious  faith  which  he  had  found  so  hard  to  over- 
come, might  blast  the  hope  upon  which  he  built  all  his 
future.  When  she  appeared,  the  following  morning  he 
scarcely  dared  lift  his  eyes  to  her  pale  face,  lest  he  should 
there  see  the  impress  of  a  determination  which  he  might 
not  be  able  to  overcome.  But,  instead  of  a  strong  re- 
solve, he  saw  only  irresolution  and  trouble,  her  mobile 
features  revealing  the  deep  disquietude  and  uncertainty 
of  her  mind.  He  also  saw,  from  her  greeting  and  wistful 
eyes,  how  tenaciously  her  heart  clung  to  him.  His  man- 
ner was  gentleness  and  sympathy  itself,  and  while  she 
evidently  longed  to  receive  it  in  her  old,  frank  manner,  as 
her  right,  she  hesitated,  as  if  it  were  forbidden  and  fraught 
with  danger.  Her  restraint  did  not  dishearten  him,  and 
he  thought  exultantly, 

"  She  is  mine.  Her  love  will  not  permit  her  to  give  me 
up  ;  her  old  beliefs  are  shaken.  Time,  gentleness,  and 
the  truth  shall  be  my  strong  allies,  and  to  them  she  will 
surely  yield." 

Her  father  was  too  preoccupied  to  notice  that  anything 
was  amiss,  and  soon  after  the  morning  meal  was  over, 
'departed  on  one  of  his  lonely  tramps  into  the  forest. 

Saville  led  Vera  again  to  their  old,  secluded  haunt  on 


342  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

the  hillside,  hoping  that  ere  the  day  closed  he  might 
satisfy  her  mind  sufficiently  to  secure  an  acquiescence  in 
his  plans,  which,  if  at  first  hesitating  and  full  of  fear, 
would  soon  become  hearty  and  decided. 

"I  learn  by  your  face  and  manner,  dearest,"  he  said, 
"  that  you  will  not  send  me  away  a  despairing  and  reck- 
less man." 

She  shivered  at  these  words,  for  they  opened  a  new 
vista  of  difficulty  and  danger. 

She  sat  down  on  a  mossy  rock  and  put  her  hands  to 
her  head,  saying,  in  pathetic,  childlike  simplicity, 

"  I  can't  seem  to  think  any  more.  I  can  only  feel  and 
suffer.  My  head  is  still  all  confused,  and  my  heart  is  like 
lead." 

-  "  Let  me  think  for  you,  Vera,"  he  said,  taking  one  of 
her  cold,  passive  hands.  "  Let  me  assure  you,  also,  that 
I  do  not  consider  my  cause  so  desperate  and  my  views  so 
unsound  that  I  must  take  advantage  of  your  weakness, 
and  urge  you  to  a  hasty  decision.  I  wish  to  carry  your 
reason  and  all  pure,  womanly  feelings  with  me  at  every 
step." 

"  O  Theron !  would  to  God  I  knew  what  is  right,  what 
is  true  !  And  you  say  there  is  no  God.  I  am  bewildered 
and  lost." 

"  The  impulses  of  nature  are  right,  Vera.  The  unerr- 
ing instincts  of  our  own  hearts  are  true,  if  in  each  case  our 
reason  approves." 

"The  impulses  of  nature  are  right,"  she  repeated 
slowly  after  him. 

"Yes,"  he  replied  eagerly;  "and  you,  as  nature's 
nearest  and  most  perfect  child,  will  soon  see  that  I  am 
correct.  What  we  feel — what  we  think  within  our 
own  breasts — that  we  know.  What  we  see  and  experi- 
ence in  nature  without  we  also  know  ;  but  what  else  are 
we  sure  of?  I  am  not  asking  you  to  peril  your  happiness 
on  what  some  old,  bigoted  Jews  wrote  a  millennium  or 


GROPING  HER  WAY  343 

two  ago  ;  but  to  build  it  surely  on  what  your  own  eyes, 
your  own  heart  and  reason,  assure  you  of  to-day.  I  am 
here  at  your  side  ;  I  am  loyal  to  you  to  my  heart's  core. 
To  the  utmost  extent  of  my  ability  you  can  depend  upon 
me  ;  while  I  live " 

"  Ah  !  Theron,  there  is  the  terrible  part  of  your  belief 
— '  While  you  live.'  Do  you  not  see  that  you  are  stand- 
ing on  a  little  point,  with  a  black,  rayless  gulf  all  around 
you  ?  What  if  you  should  fall  ?  What  if  you  should  die  ? 
Where  could  I  find  you  ?  " 

"  Dismiss  these  morbid  fancies,  dearest.  There  is  no 
need  of  supposing  that  I  shall  fall  or  die.  I  have  the 
presentiment  of  a  long  and  happy  life  with  you,  if  I  can 
only  dissipate  the  clouds  of  superstition  from  your  mind, 
and,  after  life  is  over,  we  shall  sleep  and  not  be  conscious 
of  our  loss.  But  now,  long  before  that  deep  oblivion 
comes,  to  see  a  bliss  beyond  that  of  your  fancied  heaven, 
almost  within  our  grasp,  and  yet  to  be  denied — this  is 
more  than  human  fortitude  can  endure.  Let  me  teach 
you  the  truth  from  your  own  experience,  and  pardon  the 
seeming  egotism  of  my  argument,  for  it  is  all  for  your 
sake  as  truly  as  my  own.  The  evening  you  buried  your 
mother  you  said  I  saved  your  heart  from  breaking.  The 
voice  of  living  sympathy  brought  relief.  Your  mother 
did  not  help  you,  simply  because  she  could  not.  She 
was  sleeping,  and  even  the  voice  of  her  child  could  not 
awaken  her.  If  you  will  calmly  think  of  it,  she  has  been 
lost  to  you  from  the  moment  she  breathed  her  last,  and 
all  that  she  has  been  to  you  since  has  been  due  to  your 
vivid  memory  and  strong  imagination.  At  no  time  can 
you  prove  her  presence  or  show  that  she  gave  you  any 
practical  help." 

"O  Theron!  I  never  felt  so  orphaned  before," 
she  sobbed. 

"  I  know  my  words  hurt  you  cruelly,  darling,  but  they 
are  necessary  to  your  final  health  and  happiness.  When 


344  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

even  your  light  touch  bound  up  my  wound,  it  caused  me 
agony  for  the  moment ;  but  I  am  here  to-day  because  of 
that  suffering.  Go  back  with  me  to  the  time  when  I 
found  you  near  your  old  desolated  home.  You  were  em- 
bracing the  unresponsive  mound  beneath  which  your 
mother  was  sleeping,  and  the  cold,  unanswering  silence 
was  breaking  your  heart.  You  had  become  timidity 
itself,  feeling  justly  that  you  had  no  protector.  As  soon 
as  I  appeared,  you  had  a  strong  arm  to  lean  upon.  Has 
not  your  life  improved  since  that  day?  Has  it  not  grown 
fuller,  more  complete  and  satisfying  ?  " 

"I  should  have  been  dead  but  for  your  coming, 
Theron."  «' 

"That  which  is  worse  than  death  might  have  hap- 
pened," he  said  shudderingly.  "  Think  of  the  perils  to 
which  you  were  exposed  before  I  came.  I  have  been  to 
the  point  of  Butter  Hill,  where  you  escaped  a  fate  too 
frightful  to  be  imagined.  As  I  pictured  your  climbing 
that  awful  precipice,  I  trembled  and  grew  faint.  Who 
helped  you  then  ?  " 

"  It  seemed  as  if  God  helped  me." 

"  But  was  there  in  fact  any  practical  help  save  that 
which  these  little  hands  and  feet  gave,  bruised  and 
bleeding  as  they  must  have  been  ?  Kindly  nature  held 
out  a  shrub  here  and  there,  and  the  granite  rock,  more 
merciful  than  your  imagined  deity,  gave  you  a  few  crev- 
ices on  which  to  step  for  a  perilous  moment.  Your  own 
weary  feet  carried  you  on  that  lonely,  desperate  journey 
home,  and  when  your  natural  and  human  strength  gave 
out,  you  fell.  No  one  helped  you,  and,  were  it  not  for 
the  accident  of  old  Gula  stumbling  against  your  uncon- 
scious form,  you  would  have  perished  within  a  few  yards 
of  your  own  door.  And  if,  a  little  later,  the  ruffians  had 
found  you  in  the  cabin,  who  would  have  saved  you  ? 
Who  has  saved  thousands,  equally  helpless,  from  every 
outrage  that  incarnate  fiends  could  perpetrate  ?  Poor, 


GROPING  HER  WAY  345 

inoffensive  Gula  was  rescued  by  a  human  hand.  My 
life  was  saved  by  these  dear  hands.  Tell  me  when  and 
where  any  real  and  practical  blessing  came  to  our  lives 
that  was  not  brought  by  human  hands,  and  prompted  by 
human  love." 

She  turned  and  clung  to  him  almost  in  terror,  as  she 
said, 

"  Theron,  is  this  arm,  which  death  may  at  any 
moment  paralyze,  my  only  defense  ?  " 

"  What  have  been  the  facts,  darling  ?  Who  has  helped 
you  ?  Who  rescued  me  when  I  should  have  soon  died 
from  my  wound,  as  that  thing  which  the  law  calls  my 
wife  devoutly  wished  ?  " 

"There  seems  reason  in  what  you  say,"  she  said; 
"  and  yet  it  is  so  contrary  to  all  that  I  ever  hoped  or  be- 
lieved that  I  cannot  grasp  it,"  and  her  brow  contracted 
for  a  few  moments  in  deep  thought. 

He  did  not  interrupt  her,  wishing  to  give  his  words 
time  to  make  their  impression. 

At  last  she  said  slowly,  "  I  must  try  to  feel  my  way  out 
of  this  darkness,  and  come  to  some  clear  sense  of  what 
your  words  mean  and  involve.  I  shall  have  to  trust  you, 
Tlieron.  You  can  easily  deceive  such  an  ignorant  child 
as  I  am,  but  I  know  you  will  not.  I  have  always  lived 
in  these  mountains,  and  mother  and  the  Bible  have  been 
my  only  teachers." 

"  You  forget  nature,  Vera.  I  cannot  help  feeling  that 
she  has  taught  you  more  than  all.  It  is  her  influence 
that  makes  you  so  docile  and  receptive.  Your  mind 
opens  to  the  truth,  like  the  flower  buds  to  the  rain  and 
dew,  whenever  they  fall." 

"Alas!  the  resemblance  is  too  true.  You  might  put 
within  the  petals  of  the  silly  flowers  that  which  would 
poison  them,  and  they  would  know  no  better  at  first." 

"  And  can  you  think  I  would  try  to  poison  your  mind, 
Vera?" 


346  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Not  willingly  and  knowingly,  Theron  ;  and  yet  I 
tremble  at  the  thoughts  you  suggest,  and  fear  they  in- 
volve more  to  me  than  you  realize.  Besides,  if  you  are 
right,  so  many  must  be  mistaken  ;  at  least  I  think  so.  I 
am  so  ignorant,  and  my  life  has  been  so  remote  from  the 
world,  that  I  distrust  myself  on  every  side.  You  say 
that  the  great  and  wise  believe  as  you  do  ?  " 

Here  Saville  launched  out  with  enthusiasm  and  sin- 
cerity. "  The  learned  men  of  France,"  he  said,  "  are  the 
great  thinkers  of  the  world.  They  are  rapidly  emanci- 
pating their  own  nation,  and  their  ideas  are  finding  an 
increasing  number  of  adherents  in  this  country  and  Eng- 
land, especially  among  the  educated  classes.  Only 
those  who  will  not  or  cannot  think  for  themselves  hold  to 
the  old  superstitions ;  and  in  a  generation  or  two  more, 
all  our  barbarous  laws  will  have  to  be  remodeled  in  ac- 
cordance with  truth  and  reason.  Men  will  evolve  their 
laws  from  their  own  nature  and  needs,  and  hence  they 
will  cease  to  be  mere  arbitrary  and  irrational  restraints. 
By  following  the  impulses  and  teachings  of  nature,  we  may 
hasten  forward  that  golden  age.  It  was  one  of  my 
dearest  hopes  that  I  might,  in  this  new  land,  contribute 
much  towards  reorganizing  society,  and  breaking  the 
chains  under  which  so  many  are  groaning.  Perhaps  I 
have  been  made  to  feel  how  galling  and  unnatural  they 
are  that  I  might  be  fitted  for  the  task." 

"  Who  has  arranged  it  so  that  you  might  be  fitted  for 
this  task  ?  "  asked  Vera  innocently. 

""Well,  destiny,  nature,  or  perhaps  I  should  more  cor- 
rectly say,  it  is  a  happy  chance,"  answered  Saville, 
somewhat  confused. 

"  It's  all  so  strange  and  vague  to  me,"  said  Vera  de- 
spondently. "These  questions  are  too  deep  for  me.  I 
cannot  follow  you.  There  seems  nothing  sure  existing 
but  yourself,  and  in  a  few  hours  you  will  be  gone,  and 
then  comes  the  awful  uncertainty  whether  you  will  ever 


GROPING  HER  WAT  347 

return."  After  a  few  moments  she  added,  with  an 
averted  face  and  burning- blush,  "As  things  are  now, 
Theron,  we  cannot  be  truly  married." 

"  Yes,  Vera,  it  will  be  my  only  true  marriage.  Was 
that  a  true  marriage  which  joined  me  temporarily  to  a 
woman  whom  I  loathe  and  hate,  though  solemnized  by 
every  priestly  and  superstitious  form  ?  Nature  joins  our 
hands,  hearts,  and  lives,  and  makes  us  one  in  reality." 

"  Would  it  be  true  marriage  to  your  mother?  "  asked 
Vera,  in  a  low  tone. 

"My  mother  holds  to  the  old  views,"  said  Saville 
hesitatingly.  "While  we  love  each  other  dearly,  we 
differ  radically  on  many  points.  She  does  not  approve 
of  this  war  for  liberty." 

"  It  would  not  seem  a  true  marriage  to  my  mother,  if 
she  were  living,  Theron,"  continued  Vera  in  the  same 
low,  troubled  voice. 

"  Probably  not,  Vera.  With  her  prejudices  and  be- 
liefs, the  mere  formal  rite,  which  is  impossible,  would  be 
essential.  But  your  mother  is  dead,  and  I  am  here." 

"  The  Bible  would  be  against  it,  Theron." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be.  But,  as  the  Bible  is  a  mere 
expression  of  human  opinion,  we  have  a  better  right  to 
our  opinions  in  this  more  enlightened  age." 

"  Would  many  people,  in  our  own  age,  regard  it  as 
true  marriage?  " 

"  Not  yet,  I  fear,"  he  said  sadly  ;  "  but  they  will  in 
time.  But  what  is  the  world  to  us  ?  I  am  more  than 
willing  to  share  your  seclusion  among  these  beautiful 
mountains.  As  long  as  we  know  that  we  are  doing 
right,  what  need  we  care  what  the  world  thinks  ?" 

"  If  there  is  no  God  to  whom  we  are  responsible,"  she 
said  in  sudden  recklessness,  "  and  if  in  a  few  days  we 
shall  cease  to  be,  why  need  we  care  what  is  right?  It 
seems  to  me  the  words  right  and  wrong  have  no  mean- 
ing. The  only  question  is,  What  do  we  want  to  do? 


148  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

We  must  hastily  snatch  at  whatever  is  within  our  reach, 
And  make  the  most  of  it  while  we  can." 

"  Now,  Vera,  darling,  those  words  are  not  like  your 
old  se8?'~be  replied,  with  a  slight  accent  of  reproach. 
"  You  have  only  to  follow  the  instincts  of  your  pure, 
womanly  nature  to  do  what  is  right  and  shun  what  is 
wrong." 

"  But  your  words  are  sweeping  away  all  on  which  I 
based  my  motives  and  rules  of  action,"  she  continued, 
in  the  same  desperate  tone.  "The  Heavenly  Father 
that  I  tried  to  please,  as  a  dutiful  child,  is  but  a  mere 
name.  The  mother,  whose  gentle  teaching  echoed  his 
will,  has  ceased  to  exist.  I  am  to  live  a  few  uncertain 
days,  and  then  also  become  nothing.  In  accordance 
with  all  I  have  been  taught  to  believe  true,  I  have 
no  right  to  sit  here  listening  to  your  love.  Neither  your 
mother  nor  mine  would  believe  it  right,  and,  strange 
to  say,  I  have  a  guilty  fear  in  my  own  heart  while  doing 
so.  I  don't  understand  it.  And  yet,  if  you  are  not 
mistaken  in  what  you  have  told  me,  why  need  I  care  ? 
You  are  here.  I  am  sure  of  to-day.  That  is  all." 

He  was  appalled  at  the  reckless  and  unnatural  ex- 
pression of  her  face.  Instead  of  the  pure,  gentle  light 
which  usually  beamed  from  her  deep  blue  eyes,  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  a  lurid  flame  were  burning  back  of  them. 
He  asked  himself,  in  wonder,  Is  this  Vera  ?  But  he  only 
said,  gently  and  soothingly, 

"  The  truth  involves  such  great  and  radical  changes  in 
your  belief  that  you  are  confused,  darling.  You  will 
see  everything  calmly  in  its  proper  light  by  and  by  ; 
and,  that  you  may,  I  will  give  you  an  abundance  of 
time." 

"  'Time  !  '  "  she  repeated,  with  a  bitter  laugh  ; 
"  that  is  the  only  thing  in  which  we  need  to  practice 
economy.  In  a  few  hours  you  will  mount  your  horse 


GROPING  HER  WAY  349 

and  vanish  like  my  other  delusions.  What  is  sure,  save 
this  fleeting  moment  ? ' ' 

Then,  in  strong  revulsion  of  feeling,  she  commenced 
weeping  bitterly. 

"There  is  something  wrong  in  all  this,  Theron,"  she 
sobbed.  "  I  am  frightened.  I  tremble  at  myself,  and 
am  sore  perplexed.  It  seems  as  if  I  were  falling  down 
some  black  chasm,  and  even  your  hand  could  not 
reach  me.  The  impulses  of  nature,  as  you  call  them, 
and  conscience  are  all  at  war.  I  don't  understand  my- 
self at  all.  I  only  know  that  something  is  wrong,  and 
that  there  must  be  a  dreadful  mistake  somewhere. 
Have  pity  on  me  and  take  me  home." 

The  man  of  theories  was  almost  as  greatly  perplexed 
as  herself,  but  he  took  comfort  in  the  thought  that  she 
was  unstrung  by  her  strong  emotions  ;  that  her  trust  in 
her  old  beliefs  had  given  away  so  suddenly  that  she  was 
too  bewildered  to  see  the  solid  ground  where  he  stood. 
With  soothing,  gentle  words  he  led  her  to  the  cabin. 

"  I  will  go  now,"  he  said  ;  "  but  shall  return  in  a  day 
or  two,  and  then  you  will  be  able  to  see  everything 
clearer,  and  you  will  be  your  old  happy  self." 

"Theron,  do  not  go,"  she  said,  with  such  sudden  and 
passionate  earnestness  that  he  was  surprised.  Then  she 
added,  almost  instantly,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  sad- 
ness, "Yes,  you  must  go,  you  must  go.  Good-bye," 
and  she  hastened  to  the  seclusion  of  her  own  room. 

He  went  away  feeling  that  all  was  still  in  doubt. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

STRONG   TEMPTATION 

SEVERAL  days  passed  before  Saville's  duties  permitted 
him  to  be  absent  again.  To  him  they  were  desperately 
long,  but  to  Vera  they  were  interminable,  And  yet  she 
almost  dreaded  to  see  him,  for  she  could  not  solve  the 
questions  of  right  and  duty.  Her  heart  sided  with  him 
and  his  arguments  with  pleadings  so  strong  that  it 
seemed  they  would  not  be  denied.  The  doubts  he  had 
raised  in  her  mind  grew  stronger  as  she  dwelt  upon  them. 

"  If  this  life  is  all,"  she  sighed  again  and  again,  "  how 
unspeakably  dreadful  to  lose  this  one  chance  of  happi- 
ness !  But,  even  if  I  yield,  will  I  be  happy  ?  "  she  asked 
herself  in  prophetic  dread.  "  I  have  such  a  strange, 
guilty  fear  in  giving  up  all  my  old  belief,  and  doing  what 
mother  forbade.  If  I  could  only  become  his  wife,  as 
mother  said,  I  should  be  the  happiest,  proudest  woman 
that  ever  lived.  But  now,  although  he  is  so  true,  I  dare 
not  trust  him.  I  dare  not  trust  myself.  I  feel  that  it  is  a 
leap  into  the  dark.  Oh  !  that  I  knew  what  was  right ; 
oh  !  that  I  knew  what  was  true  ! 

"  And  yet  I  cannot  give  him  up.  It  would  now  be  a 
millionfold  worse  than  death.  Can  there  be  anything 
more  dreadful  in  all  the  future  even  if  the  Bible  is  true  ? 
How  much  easier  it  would  be  to  give  him  every  drop  of 
my  heart's  blood  than  to  give  him  back  this  ring  !  How 
strange  it  feels  upon  my  finger!  It  burns  like  a  circlet 
of  fire.  It  can't  be  right.  Oh  !  is  it  very  wrong  ?  " 

Thus,  by  turns,  doubt,  passion,  fear,  and  love  surged 
over  her  mind  till  she  thought  she  would  lose  her  reason. 

Her  old  playmates,  the  flowers,  began  to  look  at  her 


STRONG  TEMPTATION  351 

reproachfully,  the  notes  of  the  birds  to  grow  strangely 
plaintive,  and  the  breathings  of  the  winds  among  the 
trees  were  long-drawn  sighs,  responsive  to  her  own. 

"It  is  just  as  mother  said  it  would  be,"  she  moaped  ; 
"  nature  frowns  upon  me.  It  must  be  wrong.  But  if  I 
am  mistaken,  if  she  were  mistaken,  if  this  is  only  a  sick 
fancy  of  my  disquieted  mind — oh  !  that  I  knew  what  was 
true  and  right." 

One  lovely  afternoon,  weary  and  torn  by  conflicting 
emotions,  she  went  out  to  the  old  haunt  on  the  hillside. 
In  her  distress  she  threw  herself  upon  the  ground,  and 
buried  her  burning  face  in  the  cool  grass.  How  long,  in 
her  deep  preoccupation,  she  lay  there,  she  did  not  know, 
but  at  last  a  kind  voice  said, 

"  Vera." 

"  O  Theron  !  have  you  come  once  more  ?  " 

"Yes,  darling  ;  I  could  not  come  before." 

Then  she  became  silent,  and  seemed  under  the  most 
painful  restraint.  She  was  so  unlike  her  former  self  that 
he  sighed  deeply. 

She  burst  into  tears  as  she  said,  "  That  is  the  way  it  is 
all  ending  ;  sighs,  sighs,  only  sighs." 

"  Must  it  all  end  in  sighs?  "  he  asked  very  sadly. 

"  I  fear  that  it  will  anyway.  Theron,  I  get  no  light.  I 
cannot  give  you  up,  and  yet  my  heart  forebodes  evil  till 
I  tremble  with  dread." 

"You  are  not  well,  Vera.  Your  hands  are  feverish, 
and  your  pulse  rapid  and  uneven." 

"  It  but  faintly  echoes  the  unrest  of  my  heart.  I  have 
thought  and  thought  till  my  head  swam  in  a  dizzy  whirl. 
My  love  has  been  your  ever-present  and  eloquent  advo- 
cate. At  times,  I  have  been  on  the  point  of  recklessly 
shutting  my  eyes,  and  of  letting  you  lead  me  whither  you 
would." 

"  My  only  wish,  darling,  is  to  lead  you  to  deep  content 
and  lasting  peace." 


352  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  How  mockingly  impossible  that  happy  condition 
seems  1  O  Theron  !  I  don't  understand  myself  at  all.  It 
seems  but  the  other  day,  and  I  was  a  simple  child  ;  now 
I  am  I  know  not  what.  My  own  feelings  remind  me  of 
Shakespeare's  tragedies,  which  I  never  half  understood 
before.  Even  in  my  dreams  I  am  walking  on  the  crum- 
bling edge  of  an  abyss.  Even  if  I  yield,  something  jells 
me  that  I  shall  lose  you.  It  can't  be  right,  Theron,  it 
can't  be  right,  though  your  words  and  your  unspeakable 
kindness  to  me  make  it  seem  so.  I  dare  not  think  of  your 
mother,  much  less  of  my  own.  Did  my  poor,  dying 
mother  have  a  prophetic  insight  into  the  future  when  she 
charged  me,  '  Be  true  to  your  God  and  your  faith  ;  be 
true  to  my  poor  teachings  and  your  own  pure,  womanly 
nature.  Let  the  Bible  guide  you  in  all  things,  and  then 
you  will  always  have  peace  in  your  heart,  and  find 
sympathy  in  nature  without.  But  rest  assured,  however 
wise  and  greatly  to  your  advantage  anything  may  seem, 
if  your  Bible  is  against  it,  do  not  hesitate  ;  turn  away,  for 
it  will  not  end  well.  Keep  thy  heart  with  all  diligence. 
When  it  troubles  you,  and  your  old  playmates,  the  in- 
nocent flowers,  look  at  you  reproachfully,  something  will 
be  wrong  '  ?  Theron,  they  do  look  at  me  reproachfully, 
and  my  heart  is  full  of  strange  disquietude  and  fear. 
Mother  said,  '  Keep  true,  and  our  separation  will  be 
brief.'  .My  feelings  of  late  seem  to  rob  me  of  the  right  of 
even  remembering  her.  Half- forgotten  sentences  from  her 
burned  Bible  come  into  my  mind  like  lightning  flashes. 
One  of  these  is  ever  ringing  in  my  ears.  I  don't  remem- 
ber its  connection,  but  the  words  are  dreadful,  and  they 
too  often  express  my  condition.  They  are,  '  A  fearful 
looking  for  of  judgment.'  Then  again  I  almost  see  the 
Saviour  looking  at  me  so  reproachfully — just  as  he  must 
have  looked  on  Peter  when  he  denied  his  Lord.  And 
Shakespeare,  too,  which  you  say  is  one  of  the  greatest 
books  of  the  world,  seems  to  echo  the  Bible.  The  writer 


STRONG  TEMPTATION  353 

must  have  understood  the  human  heart,  for  he  describes 
mine.  He  gives  the  experience  of  those  who  did  wrong, 
and  he  portrays  myself.  But  when  I  think  of  you  and 
your  devoted  loyalty  to  me  when  any  one  else  would 
have  cast  me  off,  1  have  not  the  heart  to  deny  you  any- 
thing. As  for  myself,  I  would  rather  die  a  thousand 
deaths  than  be  separated  from  you.  If  I  were  only  sure 
what  was  right — that  is  the  only  ground  on  which  I  can 
end  this  cruel  conflict." 

"And  that  is  the  only  ground  on  which  I  wish  you 
to  end  it,"  he  said  gently  and  soothingly,  taking  her 
hand. 

But  he  was  surprised  at  the  intensity  and  far-reaching 
character  of  her  thoughts  and  emotions.  Were  it  not  for 
the  external  shadows  which  had  fallen  so  darkly  on  her 
life,  she  had  seemed  to  him  almost  an  emanation  of  the 
sunshine,  a  being  akin  to  her  companions  the  flowers, 
and  with  no  capabilities  for  the  dark,  passionate  thoughts 
which  were  surging  up  in  her  mind.  Was  nature  failing 
him  who  had  been  her  disciple  and  votary  ?  Her  im- 
pulses in  this,  her  child,  were  far  from  being  satisfactory. 
In  his  strong  delusion  he  then  could  not  understand  that 
it  was  Vera's  very  nearness  to  nature's  heart  that  caused 
the  deep  unrest  and  dread  as  he  sought  to  lead  her  into 
violation  of  the  subtle  laws  which  the  Divine  Author  had 
caused  to  permeate  all  his  work. 

The  eating  of  the  forbidden  fruit  appeared  a  simple, 
harmless  act  in  the  mellow  light  of  Eden  ;  but  it  broke  the 
safe,  harmonious  control  of  God's  will,  and  there  has 
been  jarring,  deadly  discord,  ever  since. 

But,  assured  in  his  own  theories,  he  reasoned  with 
Vera  long  and  earnestly.  He  showed  her  how  the 
mastery  of  a  strong  superstition  is  slow  to  yield  to  the 
light  of  truth.  He  explained  how  hard  and  gradual  was 
the  death  of  ancient  faiths,  which  now  have  no  credence 
whatever.  He  tried  to  make  it  clear  that  the  transition 


354  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

from  the  habitual  thought  and  belief  of  years  must  be 
stormy  and  full  of  misgivings. 

She  listened  intently,  honestly  seeking  light ;  but  when 
he  was  through,  she  shook  her  head  sadly,  saying, 

"What  you  say  seems  true.  I  cannot  answer  you,  I 
cannot  refute  your  argument  ;  like  a  weak  woman,  I  can 
only  feel.  You  men  think  with  your  heads,  Theron  ;  but 
I  imagine  that  women  think  with  their  hearts." 

"  Well,  Vera,  both  your  head  and  heart  will  be  satisfied 
in  time.  I  feel  sure  that  when  I  come  again  the  clouds 
and  mists  will  have  disappeared.  And  it  may  be  quite  a 
long  time  before  you  see  me,  for  this  is  a  sort  of  farewell 
visit.  The  French  fleet  has  arrived  upon  our  coast,  and 
officers  are  needed  who  are  thoroughly  conversant  with 
both  the  French  and  English  languages.  I  have  been 
assigned  to  duty  on  General  Sullivan's  staff,  and  start  for 
the  East  to-morrow." 

Vera  became  very  pale,  and  murmured,  "  Is  God, 
seeing  my  weakness,  sending  you  away,  and  into  new 
and  greater  dangers?  This  is  the  worst  of  it  all,  for, 
however  I  decide,  you  must  suffer." 

"  No,  Vera,  only  as  you  send  me  away  shall  I  suffer, 
and  you  only  have  the  power  to  blight  my  life.  Without 
your  love  it  would  be  an  unendurable  burden." 

"  You  will  never  cease  to  have  my  love  ;  but,  Theron, 
I  have  the  dreadful  presentiment  that  if  I  do  wrong,  I 
shall  bring  evil  upon  you,  and  that  would  be  worse  than 
anything  that  could  happen  to  me." 

"  Well,  darling,  only  time  can  cure  you  of  these  strange, 
wild  fancies.  I  will  fortify  my  heart  with  hope  that  when 
I  come  again,  you  will  give  me  your  old  joyous  and 
confident  welcome." 

"Must  you  go?"  she  asked  passionately,  a  reckless 
light  coming  into  her  eyes. 

"Yes." 

She  swayed  for  a  moment  like  a  reed  shaken  by  the 


STEONG  TEMPTATION  355 

wind.  She  seemed  about  to  throw  herself  into  his  arms, 
but  turned  away  instead,  and  cowering  to  the  earth,  mur- 
mured, 

"  May  God  have  pity  on  us  both." 

He  lifted  her  up  with  a  manner  that  was  at  once  gentle^ 
strong,  and  protecting,  and,  placing  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
led  her  home. 

"  Good-bye,  Vera,"  he  said,  pressing  her  hand  only  to 
his  lips,  in  a  way  that  was  full  of  respect  as  well  as  of 
tenderness  ;  "  your  healthful  mind  will  soon  recover,  and 
be  clear  and  strong  when  I  come  again. '' 

She  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  but  he  never  forgot 
the  expression  of  her  face. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
A  STRANGER'S  COUNSEL 

FOR  several  days  thereafter  Vera's  distress  was  so 
great  that  even  the  self-absorbed  inmates  of  the  cabin 
noticed  it ;  but  she  satisfied  them  fully  by  saying  that 
Mr.  Saville  had  been  ordered  away,  and  it  might  be  a 
long  time  before  he  returned. 

But  her  spiritual  conflict  went  on  with  increasing  bitter- 
ness, until  she  grew  almost  desperate,  and  feeling  that 
she  must  decide  the  question  one  way  or  the  other,  the 
thought  occurred  to  her  that  perhaps  at  her  mother's 
grave  duty  and  truth  might  become  clearer.  Something 
might  there  make  it  known  whether  she  was  restrained, 
as  Saville  said,  by  the  strong  though  shattered  powers  of 
an  old  superstition,  or  by  the  voices  of  truth  and  nature 
within  her  heart.  So,  one  beautiful  afternoon  about  the 
middle  of  July,  she  started,  as  some  remorseful  pilgrim 
might  seek  a  shrine  famous  for  its  sacred  powers. 

But  when  she  drew  near  the  familiar  place,  unwonted 
sounds  filled  her  with  apprehension,  and  soon  from  a 
sheltered  height  she  saw  that  the  rocky  hill  back  of  the 
site  of  the  old  cabin  was  thronged  with  soldiers,  under 
whose  labors  were  rising  the  walls  of  a  work  afterwards 
known  as  Fort  Putnam.  She  could  not  descend  into  the 
valley  without  taking  the  risk  of  being  seen  by  many 
eyes,  and  meeting  those  from  whom  she  shrank  with 
fearful  memories.  She  hastily  retraced  her  steps,  weep- 
ing as  she  went,  and  feeling  more  than  ever  before  that 
Saville's  words  were  true — that  she  had  indeed  lost  her 
mother,  and  that  not  even  her  grave  would  be  left. 

"  Theron  is  right ;  there  is  no  hope,  no  protection  for 
me  but  in  him,"  she  had  almost  concluded,  when  the 


A  STRANGER'S  COUNSEL  357 

sound  of  a  horse's  feet  caused  her  to  spring  from  the 
patii  and  conceal  herself  in  a  thicket. 

A  tall,  grave-looking  officer  soon  appeared  riding 
leisurely  towards  her.  His  face  was  so  open  and  kindly 
in  its  expression,  that  Vera  felt  that  she  would  have  had 
no  cause  to  fear  him,  even  if  he  had  discovered  her. 

A  few  steps  beyond  where  she  was  hiding,  a  little 
stream  fell  into  a  rocky  basin,  sparkled  a  moment  in  the 
sunlight,  and  then  stole  on  into  the  deep  shade  of  the 
forest. 

The  stranger  seemed  pleased  with  the  spot,  for  he 
reined  up  his  horse,  and,  removing  his  hat,  wiped  his 
brow,  and  then  looked  around  as  if  to  assure  himself 
that  he  was  alone.  Having  dismounted,  he  drew  a  small 
silver  cup  from  his  pocket  and  drank  from  the  rill.  He 
then  suffered  his  eager  horse  to  dip  his  nose  deeply  into 
the  water  of  the  little  pool. 

"  Ha  !  Lion,  that  tastes  good  to  us  both,  doesn't  it  ?  " 
he  said,  stroking  the  mane  of  the  beautiful  animal. 
Then  he  slipped  off  the  bridle,  and  permitted  the  horse 
to  crop  the  grass  that  grew  green  and  rank  in  the  cool, 
moist  spot. 

Laying  his  hat  on  a  rock  near,  the  stranger  sat  down 
and  took  a  small  book  from  his  pocket,  which  he  quietly 
read  for  some  little  time,  often  moving  his  lips,  and 
shaking  his  head  with  a  slow,  gentle  emphasis,  as  if  the 
words  before  him  were  full  of  deep,  grave  import. 

Vera's  tears  dried  upon  her  face  as  she  watched  him 
with  increasing  interest.  "I  wonder  what  he  is  read- 
ing," she  thought.  "  It  must  be  a  good  book,  for  it 
gives  such  a  sweet,  noble  expression  to  his  face.  I 
could  trust  that  man.  Oh !  that  I  dared  ask  counsel  of 
him.  Perhaps  God  has  given  me  the  chance.  Be  still, 
poor,  foolish  heart,"  she  whispered,  putting  her  hand  to 
her  side  in  her  old,  characteristic  way.  "  Why  am  I  so 
timid  ? ' ' 


358  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

But  when,  to  her  great  surprise,  the  stranger  laid  the 
book  down,  and,  kneeling  beside  it,  commenced  praying 
audibly  to  God,  her  hesitation  vanished.  Crossing  the 
'intervening  space  with  silent  tread,  she  knelt  near,  and 
her  tears  fell  fast  as  his  voice  grew  earnest  and  im- 
portunate. The  burden  upon  his  heart  appeared  to  be 
his  country's  weal ;  and  in  his  earnest  desire  that  all  the 
blessings  of  liberty  and  good  government  might  be  se- 
cured, he  quite  forgot  himself.  As  she  listened  to  his 
strong  pleadings,  her  own  wavering  faith  began  to  revive, 
and  she  felt  that  a  great  living  Presence  was  near  to 
them  both. 

When  the  stranger  rose,  and  saw  the  kneeling  form  of 
Vera,  his  surprise  was  very  great,  and  he  was  almost 
resentful,  at  first,  that  his  privacy  had  been  intruded 
upon  ;  but  a  second's  scrutiny  of  the  bowed  head'  and 
tearful  face  quite  disarmed  him. 

"What  do  you  wish,  my  child?"  he  asked,  a  little 
coldly,  however. 

"Pardon  me,"  faltered  Vera,  rising,  and  putting  her 
hand  to  her  side.  "I — will  you  please  forgive  a  poor 
child  that  would  fain  learn  to  pray  also  ?  " 

"  Surely  1  will,"  said  the  stranger  kindly,  becoming  at 
once  interested  in  one  who  appealed,  by  her  modesty 
and  unconscious  grace,  to  both  his  taste  and  sympathy. 
"Do  not  be  so  frightened,  and  tell  me  how  you  came 
here." 

"  I  heard  your  horse's  steps,  and  I  was  afraid  and  hid 
myself.  But  I  was  in  sore  trouble,  sir  ;  and  when  I  saw 
you  kneel  in  prayer,  I  thought  you  might  be  willing  to 
counsel  one  of  the  '  little  ones '  of  whom  the  Bible 
speaks." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  advise  you  if  I  can  ;  but  why  not 
take  counsel  of 'the  Bible  itself?  That  is  the  best  and 
surest  guide." 

"  I  have  not  any,  sir  ;  it  was  burned,"  she  said,  her 


A  STRANGER'S  COUNSEL  359 

tears  falling  fast.  Then  she  added  eagerly,  "Is  the 
Bible  a  sure  guide  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  my  child.     How  came  you  to  doubt  it?  " 

"  I  have  been  told  that  a  great  many  people  are  losing 
faith  in  it." 

"  I  have  not  lost  faith  in  it,"  said  the  stranger,  with 
quiet  emphasis.  And  he  took  up  the  little  volume 
reverently,  adding,  "This  book  commends  itself  to  my 
judgment  and  conscience  more  and  more  every  day." 

"Is  that  a  Bible?"  asked  Vera  eagerly,  and  he 
marked  her  wistful  gaze.  "Oh!"  she 'added,  again 
putting  her  hand  to  her  side,  "how long  it  is  since  I  have 
seen  one  !  " 

"  This  is  all  very  strange,"  said  the  stranger  musingly. 
"  Who  are  you,  my  child,  and  how  came  you  to  doubt 
the  Bible?" 

"  My  name  is  Vera  Brown,  sir.  We  are  poor  people, 
and  live  back  among  these  mountains.  My  mother,  who 
is  dead,  taught  me  to  believe  the  Bible ;  but  it  was 
burned  in  our  old  home  by  some  bad  men.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  get  one  since,  and  I  am  forgetting  its  teach- 
ings. And  yet  I  have  great  reason  now  to  remember 
them.  I  don't  know  what  is  right  and  true,  but  I  must 
decide.  When  I  saw  you  kneeling,  I  thought  perhaps 
God  had  given  me  a  chance  to  ask." 

"  Perhaps  he  did,  my  child.  '  God  is  faithful  ;  he  will 
not  suffer  you  to  be  tempted  above  that  ye  are  able.'  ' 

"Oh  !  I  have  been  so  tempted,"  said  Vera,  bursting 
into  tears;  "and  it  seemed  as  if  God  had  left  me  to 
struggle  alone.  I  was  told  the  Bible  was  not  true." 

"Who  told  you  this?  "  asked  the  stranger,  a  flush  of 
indignation  rising  to  his  face. 

In  painful  embarrassment  she  faltered,  "  Father  does 
not  believe  as  mother  did." 

"  Then  remain  true  to  your  mother's  teaching,"  was 
the  decided  response;  "and  rest  assured  that  anything 


360  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

which  the  Bible  condemns  will  end  only  in  wretched- 
ness." 

"That  is  what  mother  told  me." 

"Are  you  willing  to  be  guided  by  the  Bible  ?  "  asked 
the  stranger  very  gravely. 

"  I  will  try  to  be,"  faltered  Vera,  "  as  far  as  I  can  re- 
member it." 

"  I  will  take  away  all  excuse  for  failure.  You  shall 
have  mine ;  "  and  he  placed  the  little  book  in  her  hands. 

"  May  God  bless  you,  sir,  for  this  gift.  I  did  not  ex- 
pect so  much.  Never  did  one  need  it  more." 

"  Repay  me  by  doing  just  as  it  bids  you,"  said  the 
stranger,  with  kindly  interest  kindling  in  his  eyes. 

"God  help  me  to  do  so  !  "  she  replied  in  a  low  tone, 
but  growing  almost  faint  as  she  thought  of  all  that  obedi- 
ence involved.  I  have  one  question  more,"  she  began, 
but  stopped  in  deep  embarrassment. 

"  Well,  my  child,  do  not  be  afraid  ;  you  may  trust 
me." 

"  I  was  sure  of  that  when  I  first  saw  you,  sir." 

"  You  were  ?  Well,  that  pleases  me  more  than  all  the 
fine  things  I  ever  had  said  to  me.  But  you  are  not 
making  good  your  trust,  and  seem  afraid  to  speak  your 
mind." 

"  1  have  been  told,"  continued  Vera,  "that  the  wise 
and  great  are  the  ones  who  doubt  the  Bible — people  who 
are  able  to  think  for  themselves — and  that  those  who  be- 
lieve it  do  not  or  cannot  think  for  themselves." 

"That  is  always  the  arrogant  way  of  these  skeptics," 
he  replied  indignantly.  "  Those  who  do  not  at  once  ac- 
cept their  ever-shifting  vagaries,  are  set  down  as  fools  or 
bigots."  Then,  looking  at  the  timid  maiden  standing  be- 
fore him  in  almost  trembling  expectancy,  his  face  relaxed, 
and  he  added  smilingly,  "  I  will  try  to  satisfy  your  mind 
on  this  point  also,  and  will  be  a  trifle  more  cor.fidentir.l 
than  I  imagine  you  have  been  with  me.  /think  for  my- 


A  STB ANGER'S  COUNSEL  361 

self,  and  have  to  think  for  a  great  many  others  ;  and 
though  I  may  be  neither  '  wise '  nor  '  great,'  I  am  Gen- 
eral Washington." 

Vera  stepped  back  and  bowed  reverently. 

"  No,  my  child,  no  need  of  that,"  said  Washington  ; 
"  bow  only  to  the  Being  to  whom  we  have  both  knelt,  and 
on  whom  we  are  both  alike  dependent.  Trust  and  obey 
him,  and  all  will  be  well.  And  now,  good-bye.  If  we 
ever  meet  again,  I  shall  ask  you  if  you  have  been  true  to 
the  Book  in  which  your  mother  taught  you  to  believe." 

A  sudden  change  came  over  the  shrinking  maiden, 
and,  springing  forward  with  the  freedom  and  impetuosity 
of  a  child,  she  took  his  hand,  saying, 

"The  God  of  the  orphan  bless  your  Excellency.  You 
will  lead  our  armies  to  victory.  I  know  it.  God  will  an- 
swer, through  you,  your  own  prayer." 

As  Washington  looked  down  into  the  beautiful,  eager 
face  turned  to  him,  his  eyes  moistened,  and  he  said,  after 
a  moment, 

"Thank  you,  my  child.  Your  words  and  manner 
strengthen  me.  You  have  helped  me  as  I  hope  I  have 
aided  you.  You  have  your  burden  to  bear  here  in  these 
lonely  mountains,  as  truly  as  I  have  mine  out  in  the 
troubled  world.  For  aught  I  know  yours  may  be  the 
heavier.  But  God  will  sustain  us  both  if  we  ask  him. 
Good-bye,"  and  he  rode  away  towards  West  Point. 

Vera  afterwards  learned  that  his  visit  there  was  a  tran- 
sient one  of  inspection.  In  accordance  with  a  habit  to 
which,  perhaps,  the  profoundest  philosophy  will  ascribe 
the  final  success  of  the  American  arms,  he  had  sought  re- 
tirement in  the  forest  that  he  might  entreat  the  Almighty 
in  behalf  of  the  cause  to  which  he  was  devoted. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE   PARTING 

VERA  sat  down  on  the  rock  which  he  had  occupied, 
and,  turning  to  the  chapters  that  her  mother's  teachings 
had  made  most  familiar,  she  read  until  the  deepening 
twilight  blurred  the  page.  As  she  rose  she  exclaimed, 

"It  is  true  ;  it  proves  itself.     It  meets  my  need  as  the 

light  does  my  eye.     My  conscience  echoes  every  word. 

O   Theron,  Theron !  we   must   indeed   part !  ' '  and  she 

•  bowed  her  head  upon  the  little  book,  and  wept  until  she 

was  almost  too  exhausted  to  reach  her  home. 

For  several  days  following  she  did  little  else  save  read 
the  Bible,  and  think  long  and  deeply  over  its  teachings. 
Every  day  deepened  the  conviction  that  its  words  were 
those  of  One  who  had  the  right  to  say  to  his  earthly 
children,  My  will  is  your  only  true,  safe  law  of  action. 
The  Bible's  teachings  and  principles  so  commended 
themselves  to  her  conscience  and  unperverted  nature  that 
she  felt  that  she  must  doubt  her  own  existence — doubt 
everything — or  else  take  her  old  faith  back  into  her  heart 
with  more  than  her  old  childlike  trust ;  with  the  strong 
and  assured  confidence,  rather,  of  one  who  has  tested  a 
friend  in  a  desperate  emergency,  and  found  him  stanch 
and  steadfast. 

Thus  the  question  of  right  and  duty  was  brought 
clearly  to  an  issue  ;  the  question  which  she  tried  to  put 
off  in  its  full  and  final  settlement  until  she  had  wholly 
satisfied  her  mind  that  her  lover's  views  were  fallacious. 

She  now  felt  perfectly  sure  that  he  was  wrong  ;  and  yet 
it  was  agony  to  come  to  the  irrevocable  decision  which 
would  doom  herself  to  the  old,  lonely,  and  unprotected 


THE  PARTING  363 

state,  and,  what  was  still  worse,  to  darken  his  life  with 
grief"  and  perhaps  despair.  What  might  he  not  do  in  his 
reckless  unbelief?  In  her  intense  affection  she  was  al- 
most ready  to  cast  herself  away,  deliberately  and  con- 
sciously. Were  it  not  for  that  one  word,  duty,  which 
meant  so  much  to  her,  she  might  have  been  tempted  to 
do  so.  If  she  were  sure  that  she  alone  would  suffer  all 
the  evil  consequences,  her  grateful  love,  her  strong  desire 
to  make  him  happy  at  any  cost  to  herself,  might  almost 
lead  to  the  boundless  self-sacrifice. 

"  But  it  would  not  be  right,"  she  murmured  ;  "  and  as 
sure  as  there  is  a  God,  I  can  never  make  him  happy  by 
doing  wrong." 

She  went  out  to  their  trysting-place  on  the  hillside, 
where  she  had  been  so  sorely  tempted,  resolving  that  she 
would  settle  the  question  there  once  and  forever. 

Laying  Washington's  Bible  on  a  rock  beside  her,  she 
leaned  her  head  upon  it,  and  sighed, 

"  It's  earth  or  heaven;  it's  God  or  Theron  ;  it's  a  snatch 
at  something  forbidden,  or  a  long,  dark  journey  to  my 
rest ;  for,  in  giving  him  up,  I  banish  the  possibility  of  the 
faintest  ray  of  happiness  in  this  world.  O  God  !  help  me, 
like  a  kind,  strong  Father  ;  direct  and  sustain  thy  help- 
less child.  If  I  must  decide  against  Theron,  let  no  harm 
come  to  him." 

Was  it  an  audible  voice  that  answered  ?  The  sugges- 
tion of  inspired  words  that  had  helped  her  once  before 
was  so  strong  and  vivid  that  they  seemed  as  if  spoken. 

"  Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord  ;  trust  also  in  him  ; 
and  he  shall  bring  it  to  pass." 

As  if  directly  addressed,  she  replied,  with  passionate 
earnestness, 

"  I  will  obey  thee  ;  I  will  trust  thee  ;  there  is  no  other 
right  or  safe  course  for  either  Theron  or  myself." 

In  the  solemn  hush  that  followed,  she  felt  as  if  a  kind 
hand  rested  on  her  head  in  blessing.  The  guilty  fear  and 


364  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

disquietude  fled  from  her  heart  like  ill-omened  shadows, 
and  in  their  place  came  a  deeper  peace,  a  stronger  sense 
of  security  than  she  had  ever  known  before.  Her 
mother's  face,  which  had  so  long  appeared  averted  in  re- 
proachful sorrow,  was  now  beaming  upon  her  in  approv- 
ing love. 

"  O  God!  I  thank  thee,"  she  cried,  lifting  her  tearful 
face  to  heaven.  "  I  will  never  doubt  thee  again. 
Mother,  dear  mother,  you  are  not  lost  to  me.  I  am  as 
sure  you  live  as  that  I  live." 

If  Saville  had  then  come,  her  strong  feeling  and  re- 
vived faith  would  have  made  the  ordeal  of  parting  less 
hard  to  endure  ;  but  week  after  week  passed  and  still  she 
did  not  hear  from  him.  At  last  Tascar  brought  a  letter, 
given  him  by  Surgeon  Jasper  at  West  Point.  It  assured 
her  of  his  continued  safety,  and  every  word  breathed  of 
the  love  and  hope  which  she  must  disappoint.  If  it  had 
contained  the  tidings  of  his  death,  she  could  have 
scarcely  wept  over  it  more  often  and  bitterly.  But  she 
did  not  waver  in  her  decision  ;  and  in  the  depths  of  her 
heart,  far  beneath  all  the  tumultuous  waves  of  her  sor- 
row, the  consciousness  of  peace  and  security  remained. 
She  was  also  gaining  an  assurance  that  God,  in  some 
way,  would  make  her  loyalty  to  duty  result  in  winning  her 
lover  from  his  skepticism. 

She  did  not  dare  to  let  her  mind  dwell  on  their  meet- 
ing, his  disappointment,  and  the  inevitable  parting  that 
must  follow  ;  but  her  constant  prayer  was  that  she  might 
be  firm,  and  that  he  might  not  become  reckless  and  des- 
perate. 

At  last  one  September  afternoon  Saville  came,  and,  as 
was  his  custom,  stole  into  the  glen  that  he  might  surprise 
her.  From  the  hillside  in  his  descent  he  saw  her  seated 
on  a  ledge  that  projected  from  a  rock  lying  near  the  cabin 
door.  He  silently  approached  and  looked  over  the 
boulder.  His  eyes  at  first  dwelt  only  on  the  maiden  with 


THE  PARTING  365 

an  expression  of  the  deepest  affection  ;  then  they  fell  on 
the  page  she  was  reading,  and  he  saw  that  the  book  was 
the  Bible. 

He  became  very  pale,  and  gave  the  little  volume  al- 
most a  scowl  of  hate.  Instead  of  announcing  his  pres- 
ence in  some  playful  manner,  as  he  had  intended,  he 
went  directly  around  the  rock  into  her  presence,  with  the 
aspect  of  one  who,  feeling  that  he  must  face  a  dreadful 
crisis,  will  do  it  at  once  ;  but  she,  in  the  strong,  sudden 
impulse  of  her  heart,  sprang  into  his  arms,  as  if  it  had 
been  her  right. 

"  I  thank  you,  my  true,  loyal  Vera  ;  I  was  dreading 
a  different  reception,"  he  said,  as  if  an  infinite  burden 
were  lifted  from  his  mind. 

But  her  fast-falling  tears,  and  the  manner  in  which  she 
extricated  herself  from  his  embrace,  disappointed  the  hope 
which  her  impulsive  reception  had  raised,  and  he  almost 
despaired,  as  she  said, 

"  Come  with  me,  Theron  ;  let  our  farewell  be  where 
no  eye  can  see  us  save  that  of  our  pitying  God." 

"  Do  not  say  '  our,'  "  he  replied  harshly. 

"  Yes,  Theron,  our  God,  though  you  may  not  believe 
him  now.  I  have  found  light  that  is  unmistakable." 

"  Where  have  you  found  it?  " 

"  In  this  Bible." 

"  Curses " 

She  put  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"O  Vera!  this  is  worse  than  the  bitterness  of  death. 
Why  did  you  not  let  me  die  in  Fort  Clinton?  " 

"  Theron,  don't  break  my  heart." 

"  Is  it  nothing  that  you  are  breaking  mine  ?  " 

"God  pity  us  both,"  she  sobbed,  burying  her  face  in 
her  hands. 

They  had  now  reached  the  spot  on  the  hillside  which 
had  been  their  favorite  trysting-place  and  the  scene  of 
strong  temptation,  conflict,  and  victory.  He  seated  her 


366  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

on  a  rock  ;  but,  instead  of  being  his  old  gentle  self,  he 
seemed  to  have  become  a  man  of  stone.  For  some  little 
time  her  emotion  was  so  great  that  she  could  not  speak  ; 
he  would  not.  At  last,  she  asked,  brokenly, 

"  Theron,  do  you  doubt  my  love  ?  " 

"  You  listen  to  old  bigots  rather  than  to  me." 

"  Is  General  Washington  a  bigot?  " 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  then  said,  "  He  has  not 
thought  on  these  things.  He  simply  accepts  what  he  is 
too  indifferent  to  question." 

"  But  he  told  me  that  he  thought  very  deeply  on  these 
subjects." 

"He  told  you!  Vera,  you  are  talking  wildly.  Can 
it  be  that  you  have  brooded  so  long  over  these  wretched 
superstitions  that  your  mind  is  becoming  unsettled  ?" 

"No,  Theron;  my  mind  never  was  so  clear  before. 
Only  my  heart  is  faint  and  pierced  with  sorrow  because 
we  must  part.  Look  at  the  fly-leaf  of  this  Bible." 

He  read,  in  the  clear,  unmistakable  hand  that  he  well 
knew,  the  name  "  George  Washington." 

"  He  gave  it  to  me  himself,"  continued  Vera. 

"  Am  I  dreaming  ?  "  muttered  Saville,  in  alow  troubled 
tone. 

"Theron,"  said  Vera,  laying  her  hand  appealingly  on 
his  shoulder,  "  have  pity  !  be  patient  with  me,  and  I  will 
tell  you  all.  You  can  never  know  what  this  effort  is 
costing  me.  Going  after  you  to  Fort  Clinton  was  nothing 
in  comparison.  You  caused  my  faith  to  waver  by  your 
strong  argument  that  all  the  practical  help  I  ever  had 
was  human  help — human  only.  I  have  had  human  help 
again  ;  but  I  have  come  to  see  that  God  helps  us  and 
speaks  to  us  through  creatures  like  ourselves.  Even  you 
will  be  inclined  to  admit  that  the  fact  that  I  have  received 
personal  counsel  from  General  Washington  is  so  strange 
as  to  be  more  than  chance,  and  yet  it  is  true."  And  she 
told  him  how  it  happened. 


THE  PARTING  367 

"  In  asking  his  counsel  I  do  not  seek  to  know  whether 
you  mentioned  my  name,"  said  Saville  gloomily  ;  "for 
I  have  not  sought  to  tempt  you  to  evil." 

"  Believe  me,  Theron,  I  never  gave  him — nor  shall  I 
ever  give  any  one — a  hint  or  clue  of  that  which  is  between 
ourselves  and  our  God.  The  truth  of  the  Bible  was  the 
only  question  on  which  I  needed  light.  That  settles  all 
the  others.  Theron,  it  is  true !  I  know  it,  as  I  know  I 
exist !  I  am  not  wise  enough  to  answer  your  arguments  ; 
but  I  have  come  to  that  point  in  which  I  am  not  so  sure 
of  anything  as  that  the  Bible  is  true." 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  fairly  groaned  in 
the  agony  of  his  disappointment. 

"Theron,"  said  Vera,  with  a  burning  blush,  "you 
could  not  love  such  a  woman  as  you  have  described  your 
— your  wife  to  be." 

"Why  stab  me  with  that  word?"  he  cried  passion- 
ately. 

"Suppose  I  should  become  like  her." 

"  Impossible." 

"  You  do  not  understand  a  woman's  heart.  You  have 
learned  to  love  me  as  a  simple,  childlike  girl,  innocent  if 
ignorant,  gentle  and  loving,  if  not  strong  and  wise. 
Could  you  love  me  if  I  became  a  reckless,  passionate 
woman  ?  Pardon  me  that  I  speak  so  plainly,  and,  in  this 
agony  of  parting,  pass  beyond  maidenly  reserve  and  del- 
icacy. But,  since  we  must  part,  I  wish  you  to  see  the 
necessity.  Theron,  you  are  too  good  a  man  to  love  what 
I  would  become  if  I  should  turn  my  back  on  my  faith, 
my  mother's  dying  words,  and  my  God.  You  know  that 
I  have  been  brought  face  to  face  with  awful  peril,  and 
yet  never  have  I  so  trembled  at  anything  as  I  have  at  the 
dark  abyss  that  seemed  opening  in  my  own  soul.  At 
one  time,  Theron,  I  was  almost  ready  to  lose  my  soul  for 
your  sake,"  she  continued  in  a  low  tone  ;  "and  were  I 
sure  now  that  I  only  would  suffer,  that  my  remediless 


368  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

loss  would  be  your  happiness,  I  should  scarcely  dare  trust 
myself.  But  God  in  mercy  has  removed  this  temptation, 
and  I  have  been  shown  that  wrong  on  my  part  would 
eventually  mean  wretchedness  on  yours.  There,  Theron, 
I  have  shown  you  all  my  heart,  and  I  appeal  to  your  own 
noble  manhood  to  protect  me." 

"  My  manhood  is  gone.  I  am  utterly  crushed  and 
broken.  Since  to  you  it  is  a  crime  to  keep  my  ring,  give 
it  to  me  and  let  me  go.  I  can  endure  the  torment  of  my 
loss  no  longer." 

"  O  Theron,  Theron  !  "  Vera  sobbed. 

"  If  there  is  no  help  for  it,  give  me  the  ring,  and  let  me 
go  before  I  become  mad." 

Slowly  and  reluctantly  she  drew  off  the  two  rings,  as 
if  the  effort  were  almost  beyond  her  power.  He  snatched 
his  from  her,  and  ground  it  into  the  earth  under  his 
heel. 

She  saw  with  terror  that  he  was  taking  counsel  of 
despair.  Acting  on  an  impulse  to  save  him  from  himself, 
she  again  drew  off  her  mother's  ring,  and  seizing  his 
hand,  she  pressed  it,  with  difficulty,  on  his  little  finger. 

"Theron,"  she  said  pleadingly,  "  if  it  is  wrong,  I  can- 
not help  it ;  but  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart.  Wear 
this  priceless  relic — my  dead  mother's  wedding-ring — as 
token  of  my  pledge  that,  since  I  cannot  marry  you,  I  will 
never  marry  any  one  else.  Let  its  faint  gleam  ever  re- 
mind  you  that  if  you  raise  this  hand  against  yourself,  you 
strike  me  a  more  fatal  blow." 

In  answer  to  this  appeal,  his  dry,  darkly  suggestive  eyes 
for  the  first  time  moistened,  and  grew  somewhat  gentle 
in  their  expression. 

"Vera,"  he  said,  pressing  the  ring  to  his  lips,  "you 
are  stronger  and  braver  than  I ;  you  have  more  than  hu- 
man fortitude.  Though  I  scarcely  know  whether  to  thank 
you  or  not,  I  believe  your  words  and  gift  have  again 
Saved  my  life.  Your  promise,  of  which  this  ring  is  the 


THE  PARTING  369 

token,  holds  out  a  glimmer  of  hope,  and  without  hope 
who  can  live?  I  can  trust  myself  here  no  longer." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  one  brief  moment,  then  dashed 
away.  A  little  later  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet  echoed 
from  the  opposite  hillside,  but  died  quickly  in  the  distance. 

It  was  well  for  both  that  he  did  not  see  her  weakness, 
her  grief  that  was  almost  as  despairing  as  his  own,  which 
followed  his  departure. 

At  last  she  crept  home  in  the  dusk,  repeating  over  and 
over  again,  as  her  only  comfort, 

"  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord 
pitieth  them  that  fear  him." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

SEEKING   DEATH 

A  YEAR  had  almost  passed  since  the  parting  described 
in  the  previous  chapter — a  year  of  patient  fidelity  to  duty 
on  the  part  of  Vera,  a  year  that  was  clouded  by  the 
deepest  melancholy  and  almost  despair  in  the  case  of 
Saville.  For  a  long  time  he  had  cherished  faint  hopes 
that  her  fortitude  might  fail  ;  that  his  arguments,  from 
being  more  fully  dwelt  upon,  would  have  their  weight  ; 
and,  chief  of  all,  that  her  loneliness  and  love  might  over- 
come her  resolution.  While  recognizing  the  truth  that 
she  was  acting  conscientiously  and  heroically,  he  still 
believed  that  the  only  obstacle  in  the  way  of  their  hap- 
piness was  the  tenacious  hold  of  her  old  superstitions 
upon  her  mind.  The  fact  that  their  mutual  suffering 
seemed  so  unnecessary  made  him  chafe  all  the  more, 
and  his  mind  and  body  were  giving  evidences  of  the  bit- 
terness of  the  long-continued  ordeal.  Perpetual  gloom 
lowered  upon  his  brow  ;  at  times,  fits  of  abstraction  almost 
unfitted  him  for  his  duties,  and  again  he  would  be  reck- 
less and  inclined  to  dissipation. 

To  his  old  acquaintances,  his  wife's  conduct  accounted 
for  his  manner  and  actions  ;  but  Surgeon  Jasper  knew 
of  the  deeper  wound,  and  was  often  tempted  to  inform 
Vera  of  the  disastrous  results  of  Saville' s  disappoint- 
ment. Indeed,  he  would  have  done  so  had  not  the 
young  man  charged  him,  almost  harshly,  "not  to 
meddle." 

At  first  Saville  had  found  some  solace  in  sending  Vera 
by  the  hand  of  Tascar,  such  things  as  he  thought  might 
add  to  her  comfort ;  but  she  soon,  in  a  brief  letter,  gently 


SEEKING  DEATH  371 

but  firmly  declined  to  receive  his  gifts,  and  entreated 
him  to  remember  that  they  must  accept  their  whole 
duty,  and  school  their  hearts  into  submission. 

But  there  was  this  radical  difference  between  them : 
while  her  suffering  was  the  keener,  because  of  the  sensi- 
tiveness and  delicacy  of  her  nature,  she  was  finding  in- 
creasing strength  and  calmness  from  the  Divine  help 
that  is  ever  given  in  answer  to  prayer. 

He  was  unaided  in  his  struggle,  and,  if  he  still  be- 
lieved that  man  was  a  law  unto  himself,  he  was  learning 
by  bitter  experience  that  he  is  not  sufficient  in  himself 
for  life's  emergencies.  He  had  at  last  reached  that 
desperate  condition  in  which,  though  still  restrained  by 
Vera's  words  and  the  ring  she  had  given  him  from  any 
directly  suicidal  act,  he  was  only  too  ready  to  throw 
away  his  life  by  reckless  exposure  in  the  first  battle  that 
occurred. 

Vera  learned  of  his  growing  despair  and  consequent 
dangerous  moods  in  a  rather  peculiar  way.  In  introduc- 
ing Tascar  to  the  secluded  cabin,  Saville  had  virtually 
provided  for  the  household,  for  the  boy  proved  the  most 
ubiquitous,  industrious  personality  that  ever  taxed  earth, 
air,  and  water  for  the  means  of  livelihood.  He  soon  be- 
came as  accurate  a  shot  as  Vera  herself,  and  she  had  no 
more  occasion  to  range  the  hills  with  her  gun  save  as  a 
pastime.  His  knowledge  of  the  instincts  and  habits  of 
game  made  escape  from  his  cunningly  prepared  traps 
and  snares  very  improbable.  His  good  luck  as  a  fisher- 
man became  almost  unvarying,  because  he  knew  just 
when  and  where  to  go.  He  enlarged  the  garden  which 
he  had  made  the  preceding  year,  and  kept  it  green  and 
flourishing  by  turning  through  it  a  brook  that  had  its  un- 
failing source  deep  in  the  mountains.  He  scoured  the 
hills  and  valleys  for  wild  fruits  in  their  season,  and  these, 
with  the  surplus  of  game,  found  a  ready  sale  at  the  gar 
risen  of  West  Point. 


372  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Vera  had  thoroughly  adopted  Saville's  plan  of  perfect 
openness,  and  would  permit  nothing  that  looked  like 
guilty  fear  or  desire  for  concealment.  Thus,  through 
her  management  and  Tascar's  able  seconding,  the  little 
cabin  was  becoming  a  recognized  base  of  supplies  for 
several  officers'  messes  ;  and  Saville  had  always  been 
ready  to  buy  everything  that  his  quondam  servant 
brought,  whether  he  wanted  it  or  not. 

In  answer  to  her  father's  questions  concerning  Saville's 
long-continued  absence,  Vera  had  said  briefly, 

"  Circumstances  are  such  that  Mr.  Saville  cannot 
marry  me,  and  since  he  cannot,  it  is  best  for  us  both  that 
his  visits  should  cease.  Ask  me  no  further.  Let  it  sat- 
isfy you  that  he  has  acted  towards  me  like  an  honorable 
man,  as  he  is,  and  that  he  is  still  a  true  friend  on  whom 
I  can  call  should  I  need  him." 

The  exile  turned  gloomily  away,  satisfied  that  Saville 
at  last  realized  the  folly  of  allying  himself  to  the  daugh- 
ter of  one  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  criminal ;  but  from 
that  time  his  remorseful  pity  and  tenderness  for  Vera  in- 
creased. 

Tascar's  success  as  a  huckster  finally  led  to  his  ac- 
quaintance with  a  redoubtable  negro  by  the  name  of 
Ponipey,  for  whom  the  boy  soon  conceived  a  strong 
friendship,  and  a  boundless  admiration.  Pompey  was 
ostensibly  following  a  like  calling  ;  but,  in  supplying  the 
British  garrison  at  Stony  Point,  he  brought  away  shin- 
ing coin  for  his  fruits  and  vegetables,  instead  of  the  de- 
preciated Continental  money  which  was  paid  chiefly  at 
West  Point.  This  fact  alone  gave  the  elder  sable  trader 
a  marked  preeminence. 

But  one  day  Pompey  took  Tascar  into  the  depth  of 
the  forest,  and,  with  great  mystery  and  solemnity  in- 
formed him, 

"  You'se  a  peart  likely  boy,  and  I'se  'bout  to  put  you 


ttAin  373 

up  a  peg  higher.  I'se  a-gwine  to  let  you  inter  a  deep 
'spiracy." 

"  Where  is  dis  deep  hole,  an*  how  deep'll  I  hab  ter  go 
in?"  asked  Tascar,  in  some  trepidation  from  Pompey's 
words  and  manner. 

"  What  a  chile  you  is  !  "  said  Pompey  loftily.  "  'Tain't 
a  hole  ;  it's  a  'spiracy  agin  de  Red-coats.  Does  you 
tink  I  goes  down  to  de  Britishers  at  Stony  P'int  to  hawk 
berries?  My  mas'r,  Capting  Lamb,  doesn't  need 
to  sell  berries  ;  I  takes  a  heap  mo'  inter  de  fort  dan  I 
carries  in  my  basket." 

"What  does  you  take  ?"  asked  Tascar,  agape  with 
curiosity. 

"  I  takes  dese  two  eyes.     I  takes  dese  two  ears." 

"  Well,  you  doesn't  sell  'em?  " 

"  What  a  chile  you  is  !  I  comes  back  wid  my  basket 
empty,  but  my  head  is  chuck  full,  an'  I  tells  mas'r  all  I 
sees  an'  hears,  an'  he  tells  a  'Merican  ossifer,  an*  soon 
Gin'ral  Washington  hisself  knows  all  /  does."  And  at 
this  point  Pompey  assumed  an  air  of  such  mysterious 
importance  that  Tascar  was  deeply  awed. 

"  P'raps  we  It  take  dat  ar  British  fort.  We're 
a'thinkin'  ob  it,"  continued  Pompey,  half  in  soliloquy. 
"  It  'pends  werry  largely  on  me.  Now  it  isn't  'comin' 
dat  a  man  in  my  'sponsible  'sition  should  be  out  berryin' 
all  de  time.  I'se  got  to  tink"  (with  a  suggestive  tap  on 
his  forehead);  "an*  while  I'se  a-prowidin'  sumfin'  dat 
you  doesn't  know  nuffin'  'bout,  an'  what  is  called 
strogedy,  you  can  pick  de  berries  an'  bring  'em  to  me,  an* 
I'll  gib  you  de  shiners  for  'em.  Your  part  ob  de  'spiracy  is 
to  pick  de  berries  an'  keep  your  mouf  shut,  an'  den  some 
dark  night  you'll  hear  more'n  you  eber  did  in  de  day- 
time." 

Though  Tascar' s  share  in  the  dark  conspiracy  against 
the  British  garrison  was  rather  humble,  he  was  more 


374  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

than  satisfied,  and  was  so  elated  with  his  "secret  and  his 
importance  that  old  Gula  asked, 

"  What's  de  matter,  chile  ?  'Pears  like  you'se 
a-bustin'  wid  sumfin'." 

But  Tascar,  by  a  mighty  effort,  was  able  to  keep  his 
"  mouf  shut." 

Vera  also  asked,  "  How  is  it  you  get  coin  of  late  for 
the  fruit  ?  ' ' 

"  I  gits  it  honest,  Missy  Vera,"  was  all  that  the  sable 
sphinx  would  vouchsafe.  , 

But  one  July  midnight  he  roused  them  all  by  his  wild 
and  excited  cries. 

"  Dar  !  dar  !  "  he  shouted,  "  Pompey's  goin'  fur  de 
Red-coats.  I'se  in  de  'spiracy,  an'  mus'  go  to  look  arter 
it,"  and  he  started  southward,  in  spite  of  his  mother's 
expostulations. 

The  heavy  jar  of  a  brief  cannonade,  and  the  faint  re- 
ports of  musketry,  satisfied  Vera  and  her  father  that  a 
battle  was  in  progress.  To  the  maiden  these  sounds 
suggested  danger  to  the  one  ever  present  in  her  thoughts, 
and,  in  the  solemn  night,  they  were  peculiarly  ominous 
and  depressing. 

She  soon  learned  how  profoundly  she  had  reason  to 
dread  such  evidences  of  battle,  for  one  evening,  a  few 
days  after  the  capture  of  Stony  Point,  Tascar  induced  his 
great  luminary,  Pompey,  to  come  and  beam  on  the  in- 
mates of  the  cabin  for  an  hour,  aad  to  relate  the  events 
of  the  assault,  as  far  as  he  saw  and  imagined  them. 
Tascar  was  peculiarly  eager  to  bring  about  the  recitation 
of  this  epic,  not  only  that  he  might,  as  one  of  the  "  'spira- 
tors,"  reflect  a  few  rays  of  Pompey's  glory  ;  but  also  that 
his  master  might  learn  of  an  important  American  success, 
and  that  Vera  might  hear  how  strangely  Saville  had 
acted.  He  introduced  his  friend  as  the  hero  of  the  oc- 
casion, declaring  excitedly, 

"  Does  you  believe,  Mas'r  Brown,  Pompey  tuk  out 


SEEKING  DEATH  375 

folks  right  into  de  fort,  an*  cotched  'bout  a  million  Red- 
coats? " 

"Well,"  began  Pompey,  with  a  patronizing  glance  at 
Tascar,  "  I  don't  s'pose  dere  was  quite  so  many  as  dat, 
an'  den  you  mus'  know,  Mas'r  Brown,  dat  I  had  'sider- 
able  help.  From  what  dis  yer  peart  boy  hab  told  me, 
you'se  'ucl  like  to  know  how  'twas  done." 

"We  would  indeed,"  said  Vera,  welcoming  anything 
that  beguiled  her  sad  thoughts  for  an  hour.  Tascar  had 
not  told  her  that  Pompey  had  aught  to  relate  of  Saville, 
for  he  was  magnanimous  enough  to  detract  in  no  respect 
from  the  force  and  freshness  of  his  friend's  narration.  He 
had  hinted  to  Pompey  that  Mas'r  Brown  would  be  greatly 
pleased  to  hear  any  tidings  of  Saville  ;  but,  with  a  little 
diplomacy  of  his  own,  said  nothing  of  Vera's  interest. 
He  had  not  been  a  member  of  a  "  'spiracy  "  for  nothing, 
and  could  keep  other  secrets  than  those  of  Pompey  to 
himself. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Mas'r  an'  Missy  Brown,"  Pompey 
continued,  assuming  a  histrionic  air  and  attitude,  "  it  all 
begin  in  a  'spiracy,  an'  I  was  de  big  'spirator.  Dis  yer 
chile  was  in  de  'spiracy  too  "  (and  he  laid  a  patronizing 
hand  on  Tascar's  head),  "  an'  his  part  was  to  pick  de 
berries  an'  keep  his  mouf  shut.  He's  a  peart  boy,  an' 
a  good  'spirator." 

Tascar,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  delight  at  such  high 
praise,  stood  on  his  head  a  moment,  and  then  righted 
himself  again  in  the  attitude  of  an  intensely  eager 
listener. 

Pompey  complacently  waited  till  the  boy  was  through 
with  his  demonstration,  as  an  orator  or  actor  might  yield 
a  moment  to  an  outburst  of  applause,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  De  'spiracy  rested  on  two  tings  :  De  British  ossifers 
like  strawberries,  an'  my  mas'r  an'  Gin'ral  Washington 
liked  ter  know  what  de  Red-coats  was  up  ter.  I  "  (with 


376  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

an  air  of  conscious  power)  "  was  able  to  guv  bof  parties 
what  dey  wanted.  I  tuck  de  berries  inter  de  fort,  an'  I 
brought  back  eberyting  I  seed  an'  heerd,  an'  often  my 
head  was  fuller  when  I  come  out  dan  my  basket  when  I 
went  in.  Well,  ter  git  in  an'  out  I  had  ter  hab  what  dey 
call  a  countysign — a  sort  ob  sayin'  or  word  dat  is  like  a 
key  dat  unlocks  de  do'.  It's  a  mighty  quar  ting,  de 
countysign  is  ;  it  jes'  makes  'em  big  grannydeers  like 
suckin'  lambs,  when,  if  you  habn't  any  countysign,  dey'd 
spit  you  on  de  p'int  ob  dare  bayonets. 

"Well,  I'se  had  allers  carried  de  berries  to  de  Red- 
coats in  de  daytime  ;  but  arter  a  while  de  'spiracy  got 
deeper,  and  mas'r  tole  me  dat  Gin'ral  Washington 
wanted  ter  see  if  he  couldn't  tuck  de  fort  some  dark 
night.  So  I  put  on  a  long  face  de  nex'  time  I  went,  and 
said, 

"  'Can't  git  here  no  mo'  in  daylight.  Hoein'  corn 
time's  come  ;  mas'r  can't  spare  me  ; '  and  dey  said,  '  Mus' 
hab  our  berries.  You  come  ebenin's,  and  we'll  let  you 
in  and  out  ;  for  you'se  an  innercent  darky,  and  wouldn't 
do  no  more  harm  dan  a  mule.'  I  said,  •  Yes,  rnas'rs,  I'se 
jes'  as  innercent  as  a  mule.'  An'  I  tole  de  truf ;  for  you 
know,  Mas'r  Brown,  you  neber  can  tell  when  a  mule  is 
a-gwine  to  kick  up. 

"Well,  I  tuck  de  berries  in  at  night,  an'  all  went 
smooth  as  ile  a  few  days,  an'  de  countysign  let  me  in  an* 
out  in  de  dark  jes'  as  well  as  in  de  light.  On  de  four- 
teenth ob  de  month  my  mas'r  said,  '  Pompey,  you'se  got 
a  long  head.  We  don't  want  a  dorg  nowhar  near  Stony 
P'int,  kase  dey  might  bark  de  wrong  time,  you  know. 
Can  you  fix  'em  so  dey  won't  bark  to-morrow  night?  ' 
an'  den  he  wink  one  eye  jes'  dis  way. 

"  Den  I  knew  de  'spiracy  was  a-ejfltin'  deeper  yit,  an' 
takin'  in  de  dorgs.  Wheneber  dey  wanted  some  strogedy 
dey  allers  come  to  me,  an'  dey  knowed  dat  de  only  way 
dey  could  eber  git  aroun'  dem  ar  dorgs  was  by  strogedy. 


SEEKING  DEATH  377 

I  link  po'ful  strong  a  few  minutes,  an'  den  I  said,  '  Mas'r 
Lamb,  jes'  leave  dem  dorgs  to  me.  If  any  ob  'em  barks 
to-morrow  night,  den  dorgs  hab  ghosts  jes*  as  much  as 
oder  folks.'  Dat  night  I  tuck  down  de  berries  in  one 
basket  an'  sumfin'  for,  de  dorgs  in  anoder.  Whar  I 
knowed  people  lived  dat  thought  mo'  ob  dare  dorgs  dan 
ob  de  country  I  jes'  drapped  a  chunk  ob  seasoned  meat, 
an'  watched  till  I  seed  it  tucked  away  whar  it  would  be 
werry  quietin'.  To  de  true  blue  Whigs  I  says,  '  Gin'ral 
Washington  doesn't  want  no  dorgs  barkin'  ter-morrow 
night.'  Den  I  winked  jes'  as  mas'r  did  an'  dat  was 
enuff. 

"  I'se  been  'tickler  in  'latin'  dese  parts,  kase  here's 
•whar  de  strogedy  comes  in,  an'  it  all  'pended  on  strogedy. 
Anybody  kin  fight  an'  git  knocked  on  de  head,  but  in  dis 
case  eberybody,  even  Gin'ral  Washington,  had  to  wait 
till  I'd  done  up  de  strogedy. 

"Well,  de  fifteenth  come,  an'  it  was  a  big  day  an'  a 
bigger  night.  You  heerd  de  guns,  but  dare  had  ter  be  a 
po'ful  lot  ob  strogedy  afore  dey  was  fired,  an'  all  de  great 
gin'rals  an'  kunnels  an'  captings  foun'  dat  dey  couldn't 
git  on  widout  Pompey.  Gin'ral  Wayne,  de  one  dey  call 
•  Mad  Anterny,'  was  at  de  head  ob  it  all,  an'  he  'rived 
sumfin'  less  dan  two  mile  below  de  P'int  arter  dark,  an'  he 
had  quite  a  lot  ob  Continentals  wicl  him,  not  so  wery  many, 
dough,  for  he  was  "pendin"  on  my  strogedy  more'n  hard 
fightin'. 

"  Gin'ral  Wayne  stopped  his  men  out  ob  sight,  an' 
was  jes'  a-startin'  wid  a  lot  ob  his  big  ossifers  to  take  a 
squint  at  de  Britishers  an'  de  kaseway  leadin'  to  de  fort, 
when  we  heerd  a  hos  comin'  as  if  de  debbil  was  arter 
him,  an'  some  un  dashed  up  like  mad.  '  Why,  Saville,' 
said  Gin'ral  Wayne, '  how  in  de  name  ob  wonder  did  you 
git  here  ? '  'I  jes'  heerd  what  was  on  foot,  an'  I  stole 
away  to  jine  de  'spedition  as  a  wolunteer.'  '  Kunnel  De 
Fleury  says  you're  mo'  reckless  dan  I  is,'  said  de  gin'ral. 


378  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

•  an'  it  won't  do  ter  hab  too  many  hot  heads  in  dis  tick- 
lish bizness  ;  so  I'll  put  you  in  charge  ob  de  kunnel,  and 
you  mustkeepbackand'bey  orders.'  '  I  promise,  gin'ral, 
to  keep  back,'  said  de  one  dey  call  Saville,  '  till  you  say 
de  fust  man  dat  gits  to  de  centre  ob  de  fort  is  de  best 
man,'  an'  den  dey  let  him  go." 

Vera  had  been  listening  with  a  half  smile  upon  her 
face,  for  she  could  not  help  being  amused  by  the  negro's 
droll  manner  and  boundless  egotism  ;  but,  at  the  mention 
of  Saville's  name,  she  became  deathly  pale  and  very 
faint  ;  by  great  effort,  however,  she  controlled  herself 
sufficiently  not  to  interrupt  the  narrative. 

"  Now,  youmus'  know,  Mas'r  Brown,  dat  de  Britishers 
was  a  little  careless,  lease  dey  said  de  'sition  ob  de  fort 
was  so  po'ful  strong  dat  de  rebs  couldn't  tuck  it ;  an'  no 
mo'  dey  couldn't,  widout  strogedy,  an'  dat  was  de  reason 
dey  wanted  me  all  de  time.  De  fort  is  on  a  great,  high, 
rocky  hill,  an'  de  water  ob  de  ribber  comes  all  arou-n'  in 
front  ob  it,  an'  to'rds  de  land  dere's  wide,  nasty  mash, 
whar  de  mud  is  deeper  nor  de  water,  an'  you'd  go  down 
inter  it  kerchunk  !  right  ober  yer  head.  Stony  P'int  is  a 
kind  ob  island,  an'  de  only  way  to  git  dare  is  by  a  long, 
narrow  kaseway,  whar  my  ole  missus,  wid  a  broomstick, 
could  keep  back  a  reg'ment.  We  could  only  git  across 
dat  ar  place  by  strogedy,  an'  so  dey  all  was  a-'pendin' 
on  me. 

"  Well,  Gin'ral  Wayne  an'  Kunnel  De  Fleury,  an'  him 
dey  call  Capting  Saville,  look  all  aroun'  as  near  as  dey 
could  an'  not  be  seen,  an'  all  was  still.  De  dorgs  was 
wery  quiet,  an'  dey  seed  dat  I  had  fixed  eberyting  jes' 
right. 

"  About  de  middle  ob  de  night  all  de  sogers  started, 
an'  I  goes  on  ahead  wid  de  gin'ral  an'  all  de  big  men, 
kase  I  had  de  countysign,  an'  was  to  keep  on  doin'  de 
'portant  part  of  the  strogedy.  1  had  to  hab  de  help  now 
ob  two  oder  'spirators ;  so  dey  had  two  big  men  fixed  up 


SEEKING  DEATH  379 

like  ole  farmers,  an'  dey  was  to  go  along  w°  me.  When 
de  sogers  got  near  de  fort,  de  gin'ral  sto^.  d  dem  agin, 
an'  he  sent  me  an'  de  ole  farmers  on  ahead,  while  he  an* 
some  ossifers  follered  slow  like.  Capting  Saville  wanted 
to  go  wid  me,  but  de  gin'ral  called  him  back. 

"Well,  I  had  my  basket  ob  berries  jes'  de  same  as 
eber — Tascar  here  pick  'em  fer  me — an'  de  ole  farmers 
was  each  a-carryin'  a  sheep  ;  an'  so  we  trudged  along  up 
to  de  fust  sentinel,  as  innercent  as  mules,  sure  'nuff.  De 
man  knowed  me,  an'  had  let  me  by  often  afore.  So  I 
steps  up  to  him  to  guv  de  countysign,  which  was  '  De  fort 
is  our  own,'  an'  de  ole  farmers  follered  close  on  my  heels. 
While  I  was  a-whisperin'  de  countysign  an'  a-talkin',  dey 
was  to  carry  out  de  rest  ob  de  strogedy. 

"  '  De  fort's  our  own,'  says  I  to  de  Britisher.  '  Cor- 
rect, hand  hit'll  stay  hour  hown,'  says  de  Red-coat. 
'You  doesn't  tink  I'm  a-gwine  to  take  it  away  in  my 
basket,  ter-night,  does  yer  ? '  •  What  hab  you  hin  de  bas- 
ket? '  says  he.  '  Help  yerself,'  says  I,  an*  while  he  was 
a-fumblin'  about  de  basket,  de  two  old  farmers  jump  on 
him  an'  tuck  away  his  muskit  an'  stopped  his  mouf  so 
tight  he  couldn't  git  no  berries  in  'nor  no  sound  out. 
Down  by  de  kaseway  dere  was  anoder  sent'nel,  but  we 
come  de  strogedy  on  him,  de  same  way. 

"  But  de  tide  was  so  high  dat  even  de  kaseway  was 
kivered  wid  water,  an'  strogedy  couldn't  help  dat,  an*  so 
dey  all  had  ter  wait  till  de  tide  lowered.  But  Capting 
Saville  wouldn't  wait,-  and  was  a-gwine  to  feel  his  way 
ober  through  de  water  when  de  gin'ral  call  him  back 
agin.  Po'ful  brave  man,  dat  Capting  Saville,  but  no  good 
at  strogedy. 

"  At  last  we  all  got  ober,  sabe  a  big  lot  ob  men  dat  was 
to  stay  on  dis  side  for  a  resarve,  dey  said.  De  gin'ral 
tole  me  dat  I  needn't  go  no  furder  ;  but  I  telled  him  dat 
I'd  done  my  part,  an'  'bout  de  same  as  guv  him  de  fort, 
and  now  I'se  was  a-gwine  along  wid  him  and  see  how  he 


380  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

did  his  part.  He  larfed  and  says,  '  Pompey,  p'raps  you 
is  de  biggest  ^-n'ral  ob  de  two.' 

"Well,  he  d'wides  de  sogers  into  two  big  parties,  and 
he  tucks  one  and  Kunnel  De  Fleury  de  oder,  and  he  sent 
ahead  ob  each  party  an  ossifer  wid  twenty  men,  who  was 
to  cut  away  what  dey  call  de  'batis,  or  a  strong,  scragly 
fence  ob  tree-tops,  all  sharpened  and  stuck  in  front  ob  de 
fort.  Dare  was  two  thick  rows  ob  dese,  an'  I  pitied  tiem 
po'  fellers  who  had  ter  go  ter  wood-choppin',  while  de 
Red-coats  was  a  cuttin'  dem  up.  Dey  called  dese  twenty 
men  ahead  ob  each  party  de  '  'lorn  hope.'  Who  should 
jine  one  ob  dese  'lorn  hopes  but  Capting  Saville.  '  Come 
back,'  says  Kunnel  De  Fleury  ;  '  Come  back,'  says 
Gin' ral  Wayne  ;  '  you'se  no  bizness  dar.'  'I'll 'bey  de 
lieutenant  in  command,  and  will  disconsort  no  un,'  says 
Saville,  an'  away  he  goes  up  de  steep  hill  wid  de  'lorn 
hope. 

"I  wanted  ter  see  it  out;  but  I  wasn't  'sessed,  like 
Capting  Saville,  ter  get  knocked  on  de  head  ;  so  I  crep 
around  one  side,  away  from  bof  de  parties,  kase  I  knowed 
de  Red-coats  wouldn't  fire  whar  no  one  in  'tickler  was 
comin'  agin  'em,  an'  I  could  see  by  de  flashes  how 
tings  was  goin'.  Gittin'  'round  in  a  safe  place,  while 
oders  was  bein'  cracked  on  de  head,  was  de  difference 
between  havin'  strogedy  an'  not  havin'  strogedy." 

"But  Captain  Saville,"  cried  Vera,  seizing  his  arm; 
"  what  became  of  him  ?  " 

The  sharp  interruption,  and  Vera's  bloodless,  agonized 
face,  checked  Pompey's  historic  flow  of  thought,  and 
suggested  a  new  and  quite  distinct  idea  to  him. 

"Law  sakes,  missy,"  he  began,  "  I  didn't  know  you 
cared  in  'tickler  'bout  him.  Tascar,  you  orter " 

"  Speak,  man  !  "  she  said,  with  an  importunity  that  was 
almost  fierce.  "  Was  Captain  Saville  wounded  ?  was  he 
— O  God  !  I  cannot  utter  that  word  !  " 

"  Missy  Vera,  Capting  Saville' s  safe  at  West  Point.     I 


SEEKING  DEATH  381 

seed  him  yesterday.  He  wasn't  hurt,  dough  it  'pears  like 
as  if  he  tried  to  be,"  said  Tascar  hastily. 

"Ah!  thank  God!  another  awful  danger  is  past. 
Please  hasten  your  story,  for  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  of 
these  awful  scenes." 

"  I'se  near  through,  missy,  for  what  happened  arter 
whar  I  lef  off  all  seemed  to  be  in  a  minute.  Our  folks 
went  up  de  hill  as  still  like  as  if  dey  was  ghosts.  On  a 
sudden  dey  come  on  de  Red-coats,  an'  dey  fired  on  our 
men,  but  no  flashes  came  from  our  side.  I  was  tole  dat 
dare  wasn't  a  loaded  musket  'mong  de  'Mericans,  an'  I 
links  it  was  so  ;  for  dey  jes'  put  dere  bay 'nets  in  front  an* 
run  for'ud  like  mad.  In  a  minute  de  'lorn  hope  nex'me 
was  cuttin'  away  de  'batis,  or  big,  ugly  fence.  De  place 
dat  was  so  still  as  if  dey  was  all  sleepin'  became  full  of 
drefful  sounds.  De  drums  beat  de  long  roll,  de  ossifers 
was  a-shoutin'  '  To  arms !  to  arms  !  '  de  cannons  began 
to  beller,  and  dey  filled  dem  wid  grape-shot,  an'  all  de 
Britishers  was  a-firin'  dare  muskets  fas'  as  dey  could  load. 
It  'peared  to  me  dat  ebery  un  ob  our  folks  would  be 
killed  twice  ober.  A  minute  later  I  seed  Capting  Saville, 
by  de  light  ob  a  big  flash,  jump  on  an'  ober  de  'batis, 
a-cuttin'  an'  a-slashin'  wid  his  sword.  Away  went  a 
crowd  ob  our  sogers  arter  him.  In  less  time  dan  I  kin 
tell  you  our  two  parties  come  togedder,  kerslap,  right 
in  de  middle  ob  de  fort.  Dey  hauled  down  de  flag  ;  dey 

stuck  ebery  un  dat  was  oncivil Well,  Mas'r  Brown, 

ter  make  a  long  story  short,  dey  jes'  picked  up,  on  de 
p'ints  ob  dare  bay 'nets,  de  fort  dat  I  had  already  got  for 
'em  by  my  strogedy.  But,  Missy  Vera,  if  Capting 
Saville  is  a  friend  ob  yourn,  you  orter  look  arter  him, 
kase  he  can't  do  what  he  did  dat  ar  night  twice,  strogedy 
or  no  strogedy." 

Vera  fled  to  her  room. 

Her  father  looked  after  her  with  an  expression  of  deep 
commiseration,  and  having  dismissed  Pompey  with  a  few 


382  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

words  of  thanks,  turned  on  his  heel,  and  strode  away  into 
the  forest,  muttering, 

"The  curse  resting  on  me  will  crush  her  also,  and 
seems  to  be  falling  on  Saville.  His  pride  will  not  permit 
him  to  marry  the  daughter  of  such  a  wretch  as  I  am,  and 
yet  his  thwarted  love  makes  life  a  burden  that  he  would 
gladly  be  rid  of.  Oh !  the  malign  power  of  one  evil 
deed  !  Who  can  tell  when  and  where  its  deadly  influence 
will  cease  ?  I  have  destroyed  myself  ;  I  am  destroying 
Vera  and  Saville  ;  my  crime  dug  poor  Esther's  early 
grave.  How  many  others  shall  I  blight  before  the  curse 
dies  out  ?  Would  to  God  I  had  never  been  born  !  " 

NOTE. — A  shrewd  negro  slave,  by  the  name  of  Pompey,  ob- 
tained the  countersign,  and  guided  the  American  forces  to  the 
causeway  leading  to  Stony  Point,  in  the  manner  described  in 
the  foregoing  chapter.  He  belonged  to  Captain  Lamb,  a 
staunch  Whig  who  resided  in  the  neighborhood. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

SEEKING   LIFE 

ON  reaching  the  seclusion  of  her  own  little  closet, 
Vera  did  not  give  way  to  helpless  grief.  She  recognized 
the  necessity  of  prompt  action.  Saville  must  again  feel 
her  strong  yet  gentle  grasp,  or  he  might  be  lost  to  her 
and  to  himself.  Another  battle  would  soon  occur,  and 
another  opportunity  for  the  carrying  out  of  his  dreadful 
purpose.  He  must  be  shown  at  once  that  such  reckless 
exposure  was  a  virtual  violation  of  his  promise  of  which 
her  mother's  ring  was  the  token.  She  resolved  to  write 
to  him  and  appeal  to  all  the  noble,  generous  traits  which 
she  knew  he  possessed,  and  to  chide  him  for  the  unmanly 
weakness  which  he  was  now  displaying.  She  even  de- 
termined to  risk  the  loss  of  her  dearest  treasure,  Wash- 
ington s  Bible,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  read  it,  and  be 
led  by  its  teachings  to  doubt  the  skepticism  which  had  so 
little  power  to  sustain  and  comfort.  Thus,  she  was  a 
sleepless  watcher  through  the  night,  often  writing  ear- 
nestly and  rapidly,  and  again  thinking  long  and  deeply 
between  the  sentences  of  the  following  letter  : 

"  Theron,  my  more  than  brother,  have  I  lost  my  influ- 
ence over  you  ?  The  fear  that  I  have  adds  greatly  to  a 
burden  that  is  already  too  heavy.  Your  influence  over 
me  loses  none  of  its  power.  It  would  be  hard  for  me  to 
say  when  the  thought  of  you  is  absent  from  my  mind. 
The  greatest  sacrifice  you  could  ask  would  be  a  joy  did 
not  conscience  forbid.  Theron,  I  am  trying  very  hard  to 
do  right.  There  are  many  days  in  which  I  can  only 
cling  desperately  to  God's  hand ;  but  he  has  sustained 


384  NEAR  TO  NATURES  HEART 

me  in  a  manner  so  wonderful  that  my  confidence  in  him, 
not  myself,  is  continually  increasing.  He  is  very  gentle 
and  patient  with  me  also,  for  he  knows  I  am  a  '  bruised 
reed.' 

"  But,  Theron,  you  are  making  my  burden  heavier  than 
I  can  bear,  even  with  God's  compassionate  help.  You 
know  well  that  in  my  shadowed  life  I  have  become  ac. 
quainted  with  suffering,  and  yet  never  before  have  I  en- 
dured such  agony  as  pierced  my  heart  to-day.  You  are 
the  cause.  Theron,  in  every  unordered,  uncalled-for, 
reckless  step  you  took,  in  the  attack  on  Stony  Point,  you 
trod  upon  my  heart.  When  you  are  called  upon  to  face 
danger  by  just  authority,  do  your  duty,  and  your  whole 
duty,  as  I  am  asking  God  to  help  me  do  mine,  in  the 
face  of  a  temptation  that  assails  me  relentlessly  and  al- 
most continuously.  I  say  this  much,  though  well  aware 
that  if  you  receive  wounds,  I  shall  be  more  sorely 
wounded,  and  that  if  you  are  killed,  it  will  be  \vorse  than 
death  to  me.  But,  did  duty  compel  you  to  take  part  in 
that  desperate  midnight  assault  ?  Was  it  love  of  country 
that  thrust  you  forward  beyond  the  bravest  who  were 
acting  under  orders  ?  When  I  pained  and  disappointed 
you,  I  did  so  under  a  compulsion  the  strongest  and  most 
sacred  that  the  human  soul  can  recognize.  Was  your 
motive  in  seeking  death,  that  awful  night,  noble  and 
sacred  ?  Theron,  it  was  the  first  cowardly  act  I  ever 
knew  you  to  commit,  and  it  was  an  act  so  cruel  as  to  be 
utterly  unlike  you.  It  was  an  unmanly  effort  to  escape 
from  a  burden  which  I,  in  case  you  had  accomplished 
your  purpose,  would  have  had  to  bear  alone,  and  which 
was  made  infinitely  greater  by  your  act.  Granting  that 
your  belief  is  true,  and  that  death  is  dreamless  sleep, 
can  you  long  for  a  rest  which  means  unspeakable  agony 
for  me  ?  I  do  not  say  it  boastingly,  but  from  the  depths 
of  my  heart,  I  could  welcome  pain,  loss,  disaster,  any- 
thing save  sin,  which  would  bring  you  rest.  You  should 


SEEKING  LIFE  385 

be  stronger  and  braver  than  I.  Why  are  you  not? 
Theron,  there  must  be  something  wrong  in  your  philos- 
ophy when  a  man  naturally  as  noble  and  good  as  you 
are  sinks,  fails,  and  is  overborne  ;  and  if  your  philosophy 
cannot  sustain  one  peculiarly  strong  and  favored  like 
yourself,  of  what  use  would  it  be  to  average  humanity  ? 
How  utterly  it  would  fail  the  weak  and  tempted !  But 
my  faith  in  God  sustains  even  me  in  as  sore  a  stress,  I 
think,  as  ever  a  woman  was  called  to  endure.  It  sus- 
tained my  dear  mother,  and  you  know  how  sad  her  lot 
was  in  so  many  respects.  If  your  creed  cannot  make  a 
strong,  noble  man  like  yourself  brave  and  patient,  it  is 
so  poor  that  I  am  sure  it  is  unfounded. 

"Theron,  I  know  you  honestly  think  you  are  right, 
but  are  you  sure  you  have  full  reason  to  think  so. 
Pardon  me  if  I,  in  love  and  sympathy,  touch  for  a  mo- 
ment on  your  past  experience.  You  once  believed  that 
the  woman  who  is  your  wife  was  worthy  of  your  affec- 
tion. You  assumed  that  she  was,  and  acted  honestly 
and  naturally  in  view  of  your  belief.  If  you  had  studied 
her  character  carefully  and  patiently,  you  would  have 
found  that  you  were  mistaken.  Forgive  me  for  saying 
it,  Theron  ;  but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  any  view, 
creed,  or  philosophy  which  can  permit  you  to  make  a 
cowardly  flight  from  life's  burden,  from  the  duties  you 
owe  to  your  mother  and  country,  is  equally  unworthy  of 
respect.  We  are  now,  as  it  were,  meeting  the  same 
cruel  misfortune  side  by  side.  Will  you  run  away  and 
leave  me  to  suffer  it  all  alone  ? 

"I  have  a  favor  to  ask.  Your  response  will  show 
whether  I  have  still  any  influence  over  you,  and  whether 
you  will  do  a  comparatively  little  thing  for  one  who  will 
do  for  you  everything  in  her  power  save  that  which  is 
wrong.  I  listened  patiently  to  all  your  arguments,  and 
I  tried  very  hard  to  believe  them.  Oh!  how  I  wished 
that  I  could  think  as  you  did  ;  but  I  had  known  and  seen 


386  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

the  power  of  God's  living  truth,  and  it  was  impossible. 
Will  you  in  fairness  honestly  consider  the  grounds  of  my 
faith  ?  As  a  proof  of  my  all-absorbing  interest  in  you,  I 
send  the  dearest  thing  I  have,  Washington's  Bible,  with 
the  one  request  that  you  read  it  through,  patiently  and 
thoughtfully,  and  that  you  dwell  especially  on  the  New 
Testament.  I  suppose  that  there  are  wise  men  who 
could  argue  with  you  and  tell  you  something  about  the 
Bible,  how  it  was  written,  and  why  people  think  it  is 
God's  Word  ;  but  I  do  not  ask  you  to  seek  them.  I  only 
ask  that  you  sit  down  by  yourself,  and,  putting  aside  all 
prejudice,  that  you  read  this  Bible  with  the  candor  and 
sincerity  which  have  always  been  among  your  noblest 
traits.  I  feel  sure  the  book  will  make  its  own  impression, 
and  contain  all  the  arguments  that  are  needed.  I  leave 
the  issue  with  God,  to  whom  I  pray  in  your  behalf  more 
often  than  in  my  own.  I  hope  my  pencilings  here  and 
there  will  not  mar  the  pages  for  you. 

"  Theron,  is  my  mother's  ring  still  on  your  finger?  It 
means  now  all  that  it  did  when  I  placed  it  there.  But 
you  made  a  promise  then  as  truly  as  I  did.  Do  not 
keep  its  letter  but  break  its  spirit.  Farewell. 

"  VERA." 

Early  the  next  morning  she  summoned  Tascar,  and 
giving  him  the  letter  and  package  containing  the  book, 
said,  with  a  decision  which  he  could  not  fail  to  under- 
stand, 

"  Find  Mr.  Saville,  and  give  him  these  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. Mark  my  words,  Tascar,  find  him.  Go  to  him 
wherever  he  is,  and  give  this  letter  and  book  into  his  own 
hands ;  remember,  his  own  hands.  There  is  money. 
If  need  be,  travel  days  and  weeks  till  you  find  him.  I 
must  take  no  risks  in  this  matter.  Wait  for  his  answer." 

Having  done  her  part.  Vera  was  able,  more  calmly 
and  trustingly,  to  leave  the  result  in  God's  hands. 


SEEKING  LIFE  387 

Tascar  reached  West  Point  at  about  noon,  and  found 
Saville  in  his  quarters.  His  gloomy  face  lighted  up  as 
he  saw  the  boy. 

"  Missy  Vera  tole  me  to  give  you  dese,  an'  wait  for  an 
answer. 

Saville  eagerly  took  the  missive  and  package,  and  shut- 
ting himself  up  in  a  small  room  back  of  the  main  one, 
opened  the  letter  with  a  hand  that  now  trembled  as  it 
never  had  in  the  shock  of  battle.  He  soon  reappeared 
with  a  note  in  his  hand,  and  said  to  Tascar,  who  had 
zealously  complied  with  the  request  that  he  should  eat 
the  untasted  dinner  on  the  table, 

"  Take  this  to  your  mistress,  and  come  to  me  again  in 
a  week,  for  I  shall  have  something  to  send  to  her." 

"Did  you  find  him?"  asked  Vera,  surprised  at  his 
speedy  return. 

"Yes,  Missy  Vera,  an'  here  is  what  he  guv  me." 

Vera  hastened  to  her  room,  tore  open  the  note,  and, 
with  tears  of  joy,  read  as  follows  : 

"  My  loyal  Vera,  I  have  read  your  letter;  and  am 
overwhelmed  with  shame  and  self-contempt.  How 
strong  you  are  !  How  weak  I  have  been  !  If  I  am  not 
a  man  after  this,  let  even  my  memory  perish.  I  now 
promise  you  to  keep  the  spirit  of  my  pledge.  If  any- 
thing happens  to  me,  it  will  be  in  the  performance  of 
what  you  even  would  esteem — duty.  And,  Vera,  I  will 
even  read  the  book  which  has  broken  my  heart  and 
blighted  my  life,  in  separating  you  from  me.  1  cannot 
now  trust  myself  to  say  anything  more.  You  are  as 
much  above  and  beyond  me  as  your  fancied  heaven  is 
above  the  earth. 

"  Yours,  to  command  henceforth, 

"  SAVILLE." 

The  long,  dark  night  was  passing,  and  Vera  saw  in 
these  few  words  the  faint  dawning  of  hope. 


388  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Did  her  pencilings  mar  the  pages  of  the  little  Bible? 
Saville,  on  his  return  to  his  quarters  that  evening,  turned 
at  first  only  to  such  pages,  and  to  the  words  indicated, 
which  were  thus  made  to  seem  as  if  spoken  directly  to 
him  by  the  maiden. 

One  text  struck  him  with  peculiar  force,  in  the  circum- 
stances. It  was  heavily  marked,  and  Vera  had  written 
under  it,  "  May  not  this  be  true  ?  "  It  was,  "  There  is  a 
way  which  seemeth  right  unto  a  man,  but  the  end 
thereof  are  the  ways  of  death." 

"Is  it  possible  that  I  am  mistaken?"  he  asked  him- 
self for  the  first  time.  "At  any  rate,  I  shall  be  more 
bigoted  than  the  bigots  themselves  if  I  do  not  accede  to 
Vera's  request,  and  give  her  side  a  careful,  unprejudiced 
hearing." 

Saville  was  too  honest  a  man  to  bestow  on  Washing- 
ton's Bible  a  careless,  hasty  perusal ;  and  he  was  too 
large-natured  and  fair  to  read  it  with  his  mind  steeled 
against  its  truth  by  dislike,  contempt,  or  the  pride  of  pre- 
conceived opinion.  It  was  his  sincere  intention  to  be  re- 
ceptive, judicial,  and  let  the  book  speak  for  itself,  accord- 
ing to  its  capability. 

Some  things  in  Vera's  letter  strongly  tended  to  pro- 
mote a  condition  of  mind  favorable  to  the  reception  of 
the  truth.  Her  reference  to  the  blindness  which  he  had 
shown,  at  first,  to  the  character  of  his  wife,  made  him 
wince,  but  the  effect  was  wholesome.  He  certainly  had 
been  mistaken  then  in  a  matter  of  vital  importance,  and 
how  disastrous  had  been  the  consequences  ! 

"  If  Vera  is  right,  and  this  book  is  true  ;  if  I  am  mis- 
taken again,"  he  thought,  "the  evil  will  be  without 
remedy.  If  death  is  not  a  dreamless  sleep,  but  rather  an 
eternal,  waking  consciousness  of  all  that  one  has  lost ; 
if  there  is  the  faintest  possibility  of  this,  I  had  better  con- 
sider it  at  once." 

He  moreover  felt  that  he  had  justified  Vera's  contempt 


SEEKING  LIFE  389 

for  his  philosophy.  What  had  it  done  for  him,  save  to 
prompt  to  unmanly,  cowardly  action?  Her  faith,  in 
contrast,  had  sustained  her  in  patient,  heroic  endurance. 
He  was  humbled,  and  truth  is  ever  ready  to  be  the  guest 
of  humility. 

It  does  not  come  within  the  scope  of  this  story  to  follow 
closely  his  mental  changes  during  the  days  and  weeks 
that  followed.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the  grasp  of  the 
Divine  mind  upon  his  grew  continually  more  masterful 
and  firm.  The  Bible,  as  Vera  said,  did  prove  itself,  as  it. 
ever  does  to  the  candid  reader  ;  as  it  ever  does  to  those, 
who  are  not  absorbed  in  their  own  little  'isms,  or  be- 
fogged by  their  own  pet  theories^  or  intrenched  in, 
opinions  already  formed.  Few  of  the  Bible's  opponents 
have  ever  followed  the  example  of  Saville,  for  he  per- 
mitted the  book  to  do  all  it  could  with  him. 

"My  reason,"  he  often  resolved,  "shall  be  like  a 
judge  upon  the  bench,  and  neither  pride,  prejudice,  my 
wishes,  nor  an  unfair  hearing,  shall  bribe  or  dispose  it 
to  a, false  decision." 

As  he  read  and  carefully  re-read  the.  book,  and  at  last 
was  able  to  grasp,  to  some  extent,  its  scope  and  mean- 
ing ;  as  he  discovered  its  wonderful  unity  in  the  seeming 
diversity  ;  as  he  saw  that  the  verbal  husk  in  the  early 
parts  of  the  Old  Testament  had  a  kernel  of  rich,  spiritual 
meaning,  and  that  the  New  Testament  clearly  taught  a 
philosophy  too  lofty  for  a  merely  human  origin,  he 
gradually  became  convinced  that  there  was  a  Gad,  and 
that  the  Bible  was  his  guiding  word'  to.  his,  earthly 
children.  The  "Man  of  Sorrows"  fascinated,  him 
with  irresistible  power,  and  he  followed  him.  in  all  his 
patient  journeying  through  Palestine,,  wondering,  fear- 
ing, hoping,  but  unhealed. 

With  the  conviction  of  the  Bible's  truth,  a  distress,  o£ 
mind,  such  as  he  had  never  known  before;,  began  to 
develop  itself.  How  must  the  all-powerful  and.  holy 


390  NEA  B  TO  NA  TURPS  HE  A  R  T 

God  regard  him,  who  had  so  arrogantly,  and  with  so 
little  proof  and  reason,  assumed  that  his  Word  was  a 
myth,  and  himself  a  fiction  of  the  superstitious  ?  And 
when  he  thought  how  he  had  tempted  Vera,  and 
caused  her  to  waver  in  her  faith,  he  was  ready  to  de- 
spair. 

"  What  have  I  learned  from  the  Bible?  "  he  exclaimed 
one  day,  in  agony,  "  save  that  I  am  justly  and  irretriev- 
ably lost.  I  now  know  what  poor,  tempted  Vera  meant 
when  she  trembled  at  the  words,  '  A  certain  fearful 
looking  for  of  judgment.'  " 

As  early  as  possible,  after  receiving  the  Bible  Vera 
had  sent  him,  Saville  had  procured  another,  which  he 
sent  out  to  her  by  Tascar,  as  he  had  promised.  While 
Vera  welcomed  this  gift  as  a  proof  that  he  was  relenting 
in  his  bitter  hostility  to  the  book,  she  was  left  in  igno- 
rance of  the  radical  changes  taking  place  in  his  mind. 
Saville  did  not  wish  to  commit  himself  until  fully  con- 
vinced. But  when,  after  intellectual  conviction,  he  com- 
menced" drawing  practical  inferences  from  its  truth,  and 
saw  the  fate  which  threatened  him  ;  when  his  awakened 
and  instructed  conscience  revealed  to  him  that  the  pen- 
alty of  sin  is  not  arbitrary  and  externally  imposed,  but 
inevitable  and  natural,  in  the  one  sinning,  fronp  the  very 
law  and  principle  of  creation  ;  the  man  was  overwhelmed 
with  rational  fear.  The  dark  question,  which  all  the 
penances  of  the  Romish  Church,  and  the  cruelties  of 
superstition,  have  vainly  tried  to  answer,  rose  for  his  per- 
sonal solution,  How  shall  I  be  rid  of  my  sin  ? 

Only  the  flippant  and  shallow-minded  make  light  of 
this  question,  and  they  but  for  a  brief  time.  The  student 
of  history  and  humanity  knows  that  it  has  been  the  bur- 
den of  the  heart  among  all  races  and  in  every  age  ;  and 
that  to-day  men  are  inflicting  upon  themselves  incon- 
ceivable suffering  in  the  vain  hope  of  answering  it. 

Saville  had  learned  from   the  Bible  only  part  of  the 


SEEKING  LIFE  291 

truth.  He  saw  what  evil  was  and  what  it  involved  ;  but 
he  had  not  yet  discovered  the  remedy,  which  is  usually 
overlooked  at  first  from  its  very  simplicity. 

His  despairing  self-condemnation  became  so  great  that 
he  determined  to  write  to  Vera,  and  see  if  she  could  not 
give  him  some  clue  of  hope.  So,  one  day  several 
weeks  after  the  time  he  had  commenced  reading  the 
Bible,  at  her  request,  he  wrote  the  following  brief  letter, 
knowing  that  he  would  soon  have  an  opportunity  of 
sending  it  out  to  the  cabin  by  Tascar,  who  was  often 
clown  to  the  garrison. 

"  My  faithful  Vera,  I  fear  the  gift  of  the  Bible,  which 
cost  you  so  much  to  send,  but  which  I  tried  to  make 
good  by  sending  another,  has  been  but  of  little  service  to 
me.  Will  you  be  full  of  joy  when  I  tell  you  that  I  be- 
lieve it  to  be  the  true  Word  of  the  all-powerful  God  ? 
Can  you  be,  when  you  remember  the  doom  which  this 
Bible  pronounces  on  me  who  so  long  scoffed  at  it,  and 
(what  is  far  worse  to  me)  who  tempted  you  ?  I  am  no 
longer  in  the  darkness  of  unbelief,  but  stand  in  the 
searching,  consuming  light  of  God's  truth,  trembling  at 
the  thought  that  I  have  lost  myself — that  I  have  lost  you 
— forever.  Is  there  no  remedy  ?  In  my  despair  I  turn 
to  you,  the  one  I  have  wronged  most. 

"  SAVILLE." 

"  Mas'r  Saville  looked  sick,"  said  Tascar,  as  he  gave 
the  letter  to  Vera,  one  evening. 

In  a  few  moments  Vera  came  to  the  cabin  door  again 
and  summoned  Tascar.  The  boy  thought  the  expression 
of  her  face  indicated  that  something  unusual  would  'be 
required,  and  he  was  prepared  for  the  request. 

"Taacar,  will  you  go  to  West  Point  for  me  again  to- 
night ? ' ' 

"Yes,  Missy  Vera,  if  it's  anyt'ing  "tickler." 


398  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"Give  that  letter  to  Mr.  Saville,  and  you  won't  be 
sorry  for  the  trouble  it  costs  you.  I  will  reward  you." 

Late  in  the  evening,  Saville  received  a  missive  which 
contained  only  these  words  : 

"Thereon,  I  wish  to  see  you.  Come  to  the  place 
where  we  parted  on  the  hillside,  the  first  evening  your 
duties  will  permit.  VERA." 

Me  briefly  wrote  in  reply,  "'  I  will  come  to-morrow 
evening.  How  faithful  you  are  !  " 

He  put  a  broad  piece  of  gold  in  the  wearied  mes- 
senger's hand,  and  said, 

"  Keep  that  yourself,  Tascar." 

It  was  with  feelings  difficult  to  be  described  that  Saville 
looked  down  into  the  wild,  secluded  glen  once  more. 
Over  a  year  had  passed  since  he  had  seen  it,  or  its  in- 
mates. The  mellow  autumn  sunlight  shimmered  through 
the  trees  and  upon  the  rocks,  softening  the  rugged  wild- 
ness  of  the  scene.  But  in  its  dreariest  wintry  garb  it 
would  be  the  one  attractive  spot  of  earth  to  him. 

y"  Will  Vera  be  much  changed?  "  he  had  asked  him- 
self again  and  again.  Ages  seemed  :to  have  :passed 
since  *><e  had  seen  her. 

He  could  not  surprise  her  now.  She  was  waiting  for 
him,  with  her  hand  upon  her  side,  as  was  her  custom 
when  deep  feeling  caused  her  heart  to  nutter  too 
strongly.  To  one  watching  them  from  a  little  distance 
their  meeting  would  have  appeared  very  quiet  and  un- 
demonstrative ;  but  to  each  other,  trembling  hands  and 
moistened  eyes  revealed  the  depths  of  feeling  in  re- 
serve. 

"  You  are  pale  and  thin,  Theron,"  said  Vera,  her  tears 
gathering  visibly. 

"These  are  the  least  of  my  troubles,"  he  replied,  half 
smiling.  "  I  dreaded  lest  you  had  become  shadowy  and 


SEEKING  LIFE  393 

spirit-like  under  the  discipline  of  sorrow.  Since  I  have 
come  to  believe  there  is  a  heaven,  I  have  been  constantly 
wondering  why  you  are  not  taken  there  at  once.  But  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  you  have  become  womanly 
during  this  long  year,  rather  than  angelic." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  she  answered,  trying 
to  smile  also  ;  "for  the  reason  that  I  am  a  woman,  if  for 
no  other.  I  have  no  desire  to  be  anything  else  at 
present." 

"  Vera,"  he  could  not  forbear  saying,  "  I  did  not  know 
that  faith  and  sorrow  could  make  a  human  face  so  beau- 
tiful." 

She  could  not  have  been  a  woman  did  not  a  smile  of 
pleasure  illumine  her  face  now.  Almost  instantly  it:  was 
followed  by  an  expression  of  deep  pain,  and  she  turned 
away  for  a  moment. 

He  understood  her;  she  could  not  drink  at  the  ever- 
full  fountain  of  his  love  and  admiration,  though  the  waters 
were  so.  sweet. 

But  when  she  turned  to  him  again,  there  was  no  prudish 
restraint  in  her  manner.  She  took  his  hand  as  a  sister 
might  do,  and  said, 

"  Theron,  I  want  to  help  you.  You  as  yet  only  bejieve 
the.  poorest  and  most  meagre  part  of  God's  truth." 

He  looked  at  her  with  some  surprise,  and  said, 

"  Why,  Vera,  I  now  believe  the  Bible  as  it  reads  sub- 
stantially. I  admit  that  there  is  much  that  I  do  uot.  un- 
derstand, and  cannot  reconcile.  It  grows  clearer,  how- 
ever, as  I  study  it.  The  difficulty  in  understanding- h  all 
is  an  argument  in  its  favor.,  It's  a  revelation  of  an  in- 
finite mind  ;  mine  is.  finite^  If  I  could  grasp  the  whole 
book*  I  should  say  at  once,  '  It  is  the  work  of  human  in- 
tellects like  my  own.'  " 

"  The  simple  parts  are  those  which  you  do  not  believe. 
You  do  not  understand  the  parts  that  mother  taught. me 
when  I  was  a  little  child." 


394  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Then  teach  me  as  if  I  were  a  child." 

"  How  strange  that  you  should  say  that !  It's  a  good 
omen.  Read  those  words."  And  she  pointed  out  the 
following  text  in  the  Bible  he  had  given  her  : 

"Verily  I  say  unto  you,  whosoever  shall  not  receive 
the  Kingdom  of  God  as  a  little  child  shall  in  no  wise  enter 
therein." 

"  We  must  come  to  the  point,  Theron,  of  believing 
what  our  Heavenly  Father  says,  with  the  trust  of  a  little 
child." 

"  But  what  does  the  Bible  say  of  those  who  offend,  or 
cause  one  of  God's  little  ones  to  offend  ?  How  sorely  I 
tempted  you,  Vera,"  and  he  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

"  But  you  have  no  wish  to  make  me  offend  now  ?  " 

"  No.  Whatever  becomes  of  me,  I  shall  thank  God 
that  he  preserved  you." 

"Can  you  not  see  what  a  difference  this  fact  makes ? 
Besides,  you  did  not  deliberately  and  consciously  tempt 
me  to  evil." 

"  But  that  made  the  temptation  tenfold  harder  for  you 
to  resist." 

"  You  were  not  to  blame  for  that.  But  why  dwell  on 
the  unhappy  past?  I  said  truly  that  you,  as  yet,  believe 
and  understand  but  the  poorest  part  of  the  Bible.  If  the 
Bible  is  true,  is  not  God  true  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Must  he  not  keep  his  word  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Then  listen:  'Let  the  wicked  forsake  his  way  and 
the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts,  and  let  him  return  unto 
the  Lord,  and  he  will  have  mercy  upon  him  ;  and  to  our 
God,  for  he  will  abundantly  pardon.'  You  are  willing  to 
forsake  your  unbelief,  and  all  the  evil  that  grew  naturally 
out  of  it." 

"  How  sweetly  those  words  sound  as  you  read  them," 


SEEKING  LIFE  395 

said  Saville  musingly  ;  "  but  can  God,  consistently  with 
justice  and  his  threatenings  against  evil,  forgive  my  years 
of  blasphemy,  and  my  " 

"  O  Theron  !  surely  he  will  and  can.  Did  he  not  teach 
his  disciples  to  forgive  each  other  seventy  times  seven  ? 
Will  he  do  less?" 

He  looked  at  her  very  earnestly,  and  she  saw  from  the 
expression  of  his  face  that  the  light  was  coming. 

"  Vera,  my  good  angel,  lead  me  on  a  little  further," 
he  said.  "  Even  if  I  were  forgiven,  it  seems  to  rfte  the 
memory  of  what  I  have  been  and  what  I  have  done  will 
oppress  me  with  gloom  forever." 

"  Read  those  words,  Theron." 

He  took  her  Bible  and  read,  "The  next  day  John  s«th 
Jesus  coming  unto  him  and  saith,  Behold  the  Lamb  of 
God  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world." 

"The  Bible  also  says,"  she  added,  "  'The  blood  of 
Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin.'  " 

"  Where  is  that?" 

She  showed  him. 

"Theron,"  she  said  tearfully,  "  can  you  remember  the 
scenes  of  Calvary  and  doubt  God's  love  ?  That  is  the 
part  of  the  Bible  you  don't  understand  and  believe.  You 
never  can  understand  God,  or  this,  his  book,  until  you 
make  these  words  the  key  to  all,  'God  is  love.'  I  shall 
test  you  now  whether  you  believe  the  Bible  or  not,"  and 
she  repeated  earnestly  these  words  : 

"  If  we  confess  our  sins,  he  is  faithful  and  just  to  for- 
give us  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse  us  from  all  unrighteous- 
ness." 

"There  is  no  escape  here,  Theron.  It's  either  God  is 
true,  or  he  is  not  true,  and  will  not  keep  his  word.  You 
have  acknowledged  your  sin  with  grief  and  sorrow,  and 
you  have  no  wish  to  continue  in  it.  With  this  clear 
promise  before  you,  what  must  be  your  inevitable  con- 
clusion ?  Ah,  Theron  !  I  read  your  answer  in  your  face. 


NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"You  take  'God  at  his  word.  You  believe.  Can  any  hap- 
piness of  heaven  surpass  this  moment?  " 

"  O  God  !  "  he  said,  in  a  low,  deep  tone,  "  I  thank  thee 
for  mercy  which  is  as  boundless  as  thyself !  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  once,  Theron,  that  Shakespeare 
echoed  the  Bible  ?  He  writes  thus  of  mercy,  you  re- 
member : 

'•f-f    -  <««  It  is  twice  bless'd; 

It  fel'e^seth  him  that  gives  and  him  that  takes : 
"Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest.' 


that  God  finds  more  joy  in  showing  you 
you  in  receiving  it." 

Imost  believe  it,"  he  said  ;  "for  the  Being  I 
readed  inexpressibly  an  hour  ago  now  seems  the  source 
and  fountain  of  tenderness.  O  Vera!"  he  added,  with 
an  expression  which  warmed  her  heart,  and  cheered  her 
through  the  long,  lonely  years  that  followed,  "  I  am  glad 
to  owe  heaven  to  you.  This  is  better  than  saving  me 
from  death  in  Fort  Clinton.  I  can  wait  patiently  now." 

An  hour  flew  by  and  another  like  brief  moments.  The 
full  moon  filled  the  wild  gorge  with  beautiful  lights  and 
shadows  ;  but  they  were  too  deeply  absorbed  to  heed  the 
witchery  of  nature. 

At  last  Saville  reluctantly  rose  to  go.  "  No  ;  I  will  not 
go  to  the  cabin,"  he  said.  "  After  these  words  to  you  I 
wish  to  speak  to  no  other  human  being  to-day." 

He  then  commenced  looking  for  something  on  the 
ground,  and  said, 

"  Where  was  it  that  I,  in  my  wicked  passion,  trod  that 
ring  into  the  earth?  " 

"Here,  Theron,"  said  Vera  promptly.  "I  have 
watched  the  place  ever  since  as  if  it  were  a  little  grave." 

He  soon  recovered  it,  and  taking  her  hand,  said  hesi- 
tatingly, 


SEEKING  LIFE  397 

"  Vera,  can  you  not  wear  this  ring  as  a  token  of  my 
boundless  gratitude  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Theron." 

"  It  is  tarnished  and  warped  like  myself." 

"But  it's  made  of  gold,  Theron,  gold  that  has  been 
tried  in  the  fire." 

"This  is  a  very  different  parting  from  our  last,"  he 
said,  after  a  moment ;  "  and  we  now  have  the  earnest  in 
our  hearts  that  the  time  will  come  when  these  sad  fare- 
wells shall  cease.  Good-bye.  Good-bye  once  more.,  nay 
true,  loyal  Vera.  I  will  watch  till  I  see  yo«u  enter  the 
cabin  door." 

"Theron,  you  have  never  made  me  so  happy  before. 
Good-bye." 

He  watched  her  as  she  passed  through  the  alternate 
light  and  shadow  that  fell  upon  the  path.  He  saw  the 
flutter  of  her  handkerchief  as  she  waved  him  a  farewell 
at  the  cabin  door,  but  still  he  did  not  go.  The  dawn  was 
tinging  the  sky  before  he  could  bring  himselfto  leave  'the 
place  where  heaven  had  opened  to  himm  the  Stony -des- 
ert of  his  despair. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

A   MYSTERY   SOLVED— GREAT   CHANGES 

ON  the  day  following  his  visit  to  the  mountain  valley, 
Saville  received  orders  which  occasioned  one  of  those 
sudden  changes  that  are  characteristic  of  military  life  ;  for 
he  was  directed  to  report  as  soon  as  possible  at  Charles- 
ton, South  Carolina.  He  wrote  quite  a  long  letter  to 
Vera.  in  which  he  recognized  the  kind  Providence  which 
had  brought  about  his  new  and  happy  belief  and  feelings 
before  this  wide  separation  took  place. 

"  I  must  go  this  very  day,"  he  wrote,  "  for  my  orders 
are  urgent.  Your  promptness  gave  me  our  interview  last 
evening,  and  the  peace,  hope,  and  faith  which  grew  out 
of  it.  I  now  feel  that  my  feet  are  on  the  rock,  Vera,  and 
no  distance,  time,  or  disaster  can  finally  separate  me  from 
you.  Ho\rmuch  I  owe  to  you  !  " 

The  winter  of  1779-80  was  one  of  unprecedented 
severity.  Even  the  great  bay  of  New  York  was  frozen 
over,  aad  the  British  ships  were  ice-bound  at  their  an- 
chorage. If  Washington's  army  had  been  strong  and 
thoroughly  equipped,  he  could  have  attacked  the  men-of- 
war  as  if  they  were  inland  fortresses.  New  York  city 
was  no  longer  on  an  island,  and  the  heaviest  artillery 
coald  approach  it  on  every  side.  General  Knyphausen, 
in  command,  was  greatly  alarmed,  apprehending  that 
Washington  would  attempt  a  coup  de  main,  and  he  made 
extraordinary  efforts  to  secure  himself  against  a  sudden 
attack  from  the  Continentals.  But  Washington's  troops 
were  half-naked,  shivering,  and  starving  among  the  snow- 
clad  hills  of  Morristown.  For  weeks  at  a  time  the  whole 
army  was  on  half  allowance,  and  this  at  a  period  when  the 
intense  cold  made  generous  diet  most  necessary. 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED— GREAT  CHANGES     399 

"  For  a  fortnight  past,"  Washington  wrote  on  the  8th 
of  January,  "  the  troops,  both  officers  and  men,  have  been 
almost  perishing  with  want.  Yet,"  adds  he,  feelingly, 
"  they  have  borne  their  sufferings  with  a  patience  that 
merits  the  approbation,  and  ought  to  excite  the  sympa- 
thies, of  their  countrymen." 

In  addition  to  all  other  horrors,  the  loathsome  disease 
of  smallpox  became  epidemic,  and  often  there  was  not 
even  a  blanket  with  which  to  cover  a  sick  and  dying 
man.  Thus  the  Continental  army  could  scarcely  keep 
soul  and  body  together,  much  less  strike  vigorous  blows 
at  their  ice-bound  enemies,  who  were  at  least  comfortably 
housed  and  well  fed. 

In  this  dark  hour  Washington  entreated  Heaven  con- 
tinually in  behalf  of  his  country.1  He  was  often  seen 
bowing  in  prayer  in  some  retired  place  of  the  forest,  and 
it  is  rational  to  believe  that  we  witness  the  answer  to  his 
petitions  in  his  sublime  and  more  than  human  fortitude. 

Had  such  a  winter  occurred  at  the  time  when  Vera  was 
chiefly  dependent  upon  her  own  exertions,  it  might  have 
been  fatal  to  her  and  all  the  inmates  of  the  cabin.  It 
certainly  would  have  been  so,  in  the  condition  in  which 
Saville  found  them  in  the  autumn  following  the  burning 
of  their  first  home.  But  his  forethought  and  liberality, 
and  the  labors  of  Tascar,  had  provided  against  such  an 
emergency,  and  though  she  and  her  father  suffered  some- 
what from  the  cold  during  this  interminable  winter,  they 
had  food  in  abundance. 

It  passed  away  at  last,  and  spring  brought  another  long 
campaign,  during  which  she  heard  from  Saville  but  very 
seldom. 

1 A  soldier  in  the  regiment  of  which  the  writer  was  chaplain 
during  the  late  war,  stated  that  his  grandfather  had  seen  Wash- 
ington at  prayer,  in  the  woods  near  his  quarters  at  Morristow»j 
more  than  once. 


400  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Another  winter  and  summer  passed,  and  there  were 
long,  anxious  intervals,  with  no  tidings  from  the  South. 
Letters  were  rare  and  uncertain  luxuries  in  those  days. 

At  last  the  thrill  of  joy  which  went  through  the  land  at 
the  surrender  of  Lord  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown  was  felt, 
even  in  the  secluded  mountain  cabin.  Tascar,  half  wild 
with  excitement,,  btrought  the  news  from  West  Point. 
Vera  was  profoundly  thankful,  as  the  event  promised  to 
hasten  the  day  of  peace  ;  while  her  father  was  more  elated 
than  he  had  ever  been  before  with  the  hope  that  he 
would  soon  be,  without  doubt,  beyond  British  law..  As 
the  war  continued,  and  the  colonies  had  maintained  the 
struggle  from  year  to  year,  his  hope  had  gradually 
strengthened),  that  even  the  enormous  power  of  England 
might  at  last  be  wearied  into  yielding  the  liberty  which, 
her  colonies  claimed.  Under  the  influence  of  this  hope 
he  girew  souaewihat  less  moody  and  depressed,  and  at 
times- he-  even  tried,  im  a  grim,  poor  way,  to  be  more  com- 
panionable to  Vera,  whom  he  pitied  profoundly  in,  her 
loneliness. 

In  the  whiter  of  1781-2  a  letter,  that  had  been  long  on 
tfce  way,  came  from  Saville,  stating  that  he  had  been 
wounded  in  the  siege  o£  Yorktown,  but  that  he  was  now 
out  of  daaager  and  recovering-.  It  breathed  the  same  quiet, 
hopeful  spirit  which  had  pervaded  all  his  letters  during 
this,  long  absence.  His  faith  was  strengthening  with  time 
and!  trial 

Vera  immediately  wrote  fully  and  feelingly  in  reply, 
and  Surgeon  Jasper,  who  was  still  at  West  Point,  and  a 
friend  that  could  be  depended  upon,  promised  to  make 
great  efforts  to  secure  her  letter  a  safe  transit.  Its  re- 
ceipt did  much  to  hasten  Saville's  recovery  ;  but  such  was 
the  feeble  and  exhausted  condition  of  his  system,  that  his 
surgeont  insisted  upon  his  remaining  in  the  Sooth  during 
the  water. 

The  spring  of  the  auspicious  year  of  1782  again  clothed 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED— <G£EAT  CHANGES     401 

the  Highlands  with  beauty,  and  rumors  of  peace  were 
gladdening  the  hearts  of  the  people. 

One  day  Tascar  came  up  from  West  Point  in  an  un- 
usual state  of  excitement. 

"  I'se  a-tinkin',  Missy  Vera,"  he  said,  "  dat  peace 
mus'  hab  come  ober  de  water,  for  dey's  gitting  ready  for 
wonderful  doin's  at  de  P'int.  Nebber  see -de  tike  afore. 
Dey's  buiidin'  a  kind  ob  arbor  wid  trunks  >ob  trees,  and 
de  branches  all  twisted  togedder,  and  it's  astoig — why«te 
hull  army  could  git  under  it.  An'  dey  tells  me -datdere's 
a  gwine  to  be  a  big  dinner,  aw'  a  dance,  'an  a  'few  tie 
joyful,'  an'  no  end  to  wonderful  tings.  I  seed'Capting 
Molly,  too,  an'  she  said  we  mus'  all  come  down  an'  •see, 
kase  eberybody  would  be  dar.  Gin'ral  Washington  a«d 
big  ladies  and  eberybody  else." 

Vera  saw  that  her  father  was  as  'greatly  interested  as 
herself. 

"  Do  you  think  that  it  does  mean  peace,  Vera?  "  <he 
asked. 

"  We  will  go  and  see."  < 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  cannot " 

"  Father,  I  am  going,  and  you  wooikl  not  'let  ine  go 
alone." 

So,  on  the  morning  of  the  3ist  of 'May,  the  strange  lit- 
tle group,  consisting  of  the  tall  and  grizzled  exile, 'Carry- 
ing his  long  rifle  ;  his  beautiful  daughter,  wilh  her  golden 
hair  falling  in  wavy  fulness  far  .over  her  shoulders,  and 
the  delighted  Tascar,  who  capered  along  the  path  like  a 
frolicsome  spaniel,  often  exposing  their  basket  of  lunch  to 
imminent  danger  from  his  odd  freaks,  started  for  the 
plain  of  West  Point,  where  the  celebration  was  to  fee 
held. 

They  reached  the  vicinity  of  their  old  cabin  -din-ing <tfae 
forenoon,  and  Vera  said, 

"  Father,  we  will  rest  and  eat  our  lunch  by  the  spring 
near  mother's  grave." 


402  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Oh,  no,  Vera,  not  there,"  he  answered,  with  a  re- 
morseful face. 

"  Yes,  father,  there.  Mother  is  not  lost  to  us.  She  is 
only  absent  now  ;  but  I  am  sure  she  would  like  us  to  re- 
member her,  and  to  be  near  her  resting-place." 

He  yielded.  He  was  forming  the  habit  of  yielding  to 
her  more  and  more,  for,  since  her  will  had  governed,  he 
recognized  the  fact  that  he  had  enjoyed  both  security  and 
the  comforts  of  life. 

Vera  left  her  lunch  untasted  for  some  time,  as  she  gazed 
wistfully  around  the  familiar  place,  now  so  changed  in 
consequence  of  the  fort  having  been  built.  With  a  deep 
sense  of  gratitude  she  saw  that  the  grave  had  not  been 
molested  or  trampled. 

"  I  would  rather  spend  the  day  here,  recalling  the 
past,"  she  said,  as  they  were  preparing  to  leave,  "  than  in 
witnessing  the  grand  festival.  But  come,  the  longer  I  re- 
main, the  harder  it  will  be  to  go." 

"  O  Esther,  my  wife  !  would  to  God  you  had  seen  these 
better  days,"  sighed  her  father.  "  Would  to  God  you 
had  seen  the  time  when  we  could  begin  to  feel  safe." 

"  She  does  see  it,  father.  I  feel  sure  she  is  rejoicing  in 
everything  that  brings  us  hope  and  joy." 

He  shook  his  head,  but  followed  silently. 

Vera  was  young,  and  still  had  the  keen  interest  of 
youth  in  all  that  was  new,  strange,  and  beautiful  ;  and 
her  eyes  kindled  and  her  face  flushed  with  delight  as  the 
wide  plain  of  West  Point,  lined  with  barracks,  tents,  and 
officers'  quarters,  all  decorated  with  flags  and  gay 
streamers,  opened  before  her.  Across  this  plain,  groups 
of  people,  and  battalions  of  soldiers  with  their  weapons 
glittering  in  the  bright,  early  summer  sunlight,  were  mov- 
ing in  what  seemed  from  her  distant  place  of  observation 
to  be  bewildering  confusion. 

The  magnificent  colonnade,  or  arbor,  which  was  built 
on  a  slight  rise  of  ground  in  the  rear  of  Fort  Clinton, 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED— GREAT  CHANGES     403 

seemed  to  her  a  structure  more  wonderful  and  beautiful 
than  even  the  imagination  could  create. 

It  was  indeed  one  of  the  most  remarkable  edifices  of 
the  kind  ever  erected,  and  had  required  the  supervising 
skill  of  an  eminent  French  engineer  by  the  name  of  Major 
Villefranche,  and  the  labors  of  a  thousand  men  for  over 
ten  days.  It  was  two  hundred  and  twenty  feet  long  and 
eighty  feet  wide,  and  was  composed  of  the  simple 
materials  which  the  trees  in  the  vicinity  afforded.  A 
grand  colonnade  of  one  hundred  and  eighteen  pillars, 
which  were  simply  the  trunks  of  tall,  stately  trees,  ran 
down  the  centre,  and  supported  the  lofty  roof,  that  was 
formed  by  curiously  interwoven  boughs  and  leafy 
branches  ;  the  fragrant  evergreens,  in  which  the  region 
abounds,  being  the  chief  components.  Rafters  sloped 
beneath  this  leafy  canopy  from  the  ridge  to  two  lighter 
rows  of  supporting  pillars  on  either  side,  and  from  these 
were  suspended  wreaths  of  evergreens  and  flowers.  The 
ends  and  sides,  up  to  a  lofty  height,  were  left  open,  so 
that  the  guests  could  pass  in  and  out  unimpeded,  and  also 
from  every  part  command  a  view  of  the  plain  and  sur- 
rounding scenery.  This  openness  of  formation  also 
caused  the  immense  structure  to  give  the  impression  of 
light,  airy  grace. 

As  Vera  approached,  and  saw  that  groups  of  people 
were  passing  unhindered  under  and  through  the  beauti- 
ful bower,  she  induced  her  father  to  go  thither  also.  He 
seemingly  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  would 
humor  Vera  to  her  heart's  content  on  this  occasion, 
though  it  cost  him  a  greater  effort  than  even  she  realized 
to  face  the  curious  stare  he  saw  on  every  side.  At  first 
she  was  so  absorbed  and  delighted  with  the  new  and 
wonderful  scenes,  that  she  did  not  notice  how  many  eyes 
were  following  her.  Wherever  they  went,  faces  were 
turned  towards  them,  on  which  were  the  blended  expres- 
sions of  surprise,  admiration,  and  curiosity.  But  Vera 


404  NRAJB  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

was.  sa  utterly  free  from  vanity  and  self-consciousness 
that  she  did  not  notice  this  till  the  fact  was  forced  upon 
her.  With  her  lovely  features  aglow  with  pleasure  and 
intelligent  interest,  she  strolled  through  the  arbor  at  the 
side  of  her  father,  calling  his  attention  to  the  festoons  of 
flowers,  the  garlands  encircling  the  rustic  pillars,  the  em- 
blenuuica.1  devices,  fleurs-de-lis,  and  other  decorations 
significant  of  the  American  alliance  with  France. 

As  she  was  examining  the  fanciful  manner  in  which 
the  ceatrai  pillars  were  surrounded  by  muskets  and 
bayonets,  bound  together,  by  the  intermingled  colors  of 
each  natioaatlity,  she  suddenly  became  conscious  of  a 
dark,,  bloated  face  directly  before  her,  and  the  rude,  leer- 
iag  stare  of  two  evil  eyes.  She  sprang  back  as  if  she 
had  seen  a  viper  coiled  among  the  devices  about  the  pil- 
lar,, for  she  recognized  in  the  stranger  the  tipsy  officer 
who  had  insulted  her  by  trying  to  snatch  a  kiss  at  the 
time  she  went  to  Constitution  Island  in  search  of  tidings 
from.  Saville. 

"  Hal  my  pretty  one,  I  see  you;  remember  me,"  he 
said  brassily.  "  I  hope  you  are  now  prepared  to  make 
aaaends  for  your  coyeess,  then.  If  so,  I  will  forego  the 
grudge  I  might  naturally  hold  against  you." 

Vera  gave  him  no  other  answer  than  a  look  of  aversion 
aod  contempt.,  which  her  expressive  features  made  very 
unmistakable,,  and;  hastening  to  her  father,  she  induced 
him  to  follow  the  people  who  were  streaming  across  the 
plain,  to  the  northern  side,  as.  if  something  of  interest  were 
taking;  place  there. 

They  had  not  gone  very  far  before  the  fellow,  captivated 
091  Vera' s  beauty,  determined  to  make  another  attempt  to 
b*eaIk  dow-n  her  reserve.  She  started  violently  as  she 
found  him  walking  coolly  at  her  sidfc 

"  Upoo>  a  gala,  occasion  like  this,"  he  said,  "  a  fair  lady 
needs  »  gallant.  I  am  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  and  I 
can  make  the  day  pass  more  pleasantly." 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED—GREAT  CHANGES     406- 

"  You  are  not  a  gentleman,  sir,  or  you  would  not  thrust 
yourself  upon  those  to  whom  your  society  is  evidently  un- 
welcome. 

"  Nay,  my  lovely  charmer  ;  your  frowns  and  coyness 
only  stimulate  my  desire  to  win  your  favor." 

Almost  before  the  words  were  spoken  a  blow  laid  him 
prostrate  on  the  plain,  and  the  enraged  father  stood  over 
him  and  said,  with  significant  emphasis, 

"  As  you  value  your  life,  do  not  approach  my  daughter 
again  to-day." 

The  scene  was  drawing  a  curious  crowd,  and  Vera,  taking 
her  father's  arm,  hastened  to  escape,  leaving  her  insulter 
to  explain  his  plight  as  he  please.  The  scene  explained 
itself,  however,  and  the  prostrate  officer  picked  himself 
up  and  skulked  off  amid  jeers  and  shouts  of  laughter. 

But  among  those  who  had  witnessed  the  incident  was 
no  other  than  the  redoubtable  Captain  Molly  herself,  who, 
with  quite  a  following  of  "  swatehearts,"  was  about  as 
jolly  a  widow  as  one  could  imagine.  She  hastened  after 
Vera,  and  soon  overtook  her,  crying  volubly, 

"The  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  ye,  Misthress  Vera,  and 
the  same  to  yerself,  sur.  It  did  me  heart  good,  sur,  to  see 
how  ye  gave  that  capting  a  lesson  in  manners.  That  clip 
at  the  side  o'  his  head  is  the  fust  wound  he's  got  in  the 
war,  for  they  say  he's  moighty  discrate  wid  men,  though 
bould  as  a  lion  or  some  wusser  baste  wid  women.  Faix, 
and  I'm  honest  glad  to  see  ye  agin,  an'  a-lookin'  as,perty 
as  a  wild  rose,  too.  I  don't  wonder  the  fellers  is  all 
a-starin'1  at  ye." 

Vera's  greeting  was  cordial  though  quiet.  For  some 
reason  she  felt  safer  since  Molly  was  within  call ;  but  she 
shrank  sensitively  from  the  attention  she  drew/,  for  the 
"  captain,"  in  her  blue  petticoat,  cocked  hat,  and  the  scar- 
let coat  of  an  artilleryman,  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes, 
being  followed  by  a  crowd  of  gaping  country  people 
wherever  she  went. 


406  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  This  festival  is  not  in  hontfr  of  peace  after  all,"  said 
Vera. 

"  Did  ye  think  that  it  was  ?  Well,  yez  live  so  far  be- 
hoind  the  mountings  that  ye're  a  little  behoind  the  times. 
Pace  is  comin'  soon,  but  they  call  this  a  fate,  and  it's  to 
the  honor  of  the  Dolphin  of  France." 

"  The  Dolphin  of  France  ?"  said  Vera,  turning  to  her 
father  with  a  look  of  inquiry. 

"  Yis,  it's  in  honor  of  the  birth  of  the  Dolphin  of 
France.  That's  what  ivery  one's  a-sayin'.  It's  not  me- 
self  that  knows  what  kind  of  a  crayther  it  is  that's  been 
bourn,  but  I'm  a-hopin'  its  mother'll  have  a  lot  more,  if 
we  are  to  have  as  big  a  day  as  this  ivery  toime  !  " 

"  She  means  that  the  fete  is  in  honor  of  the  birth  of  the 
Dauphin  of  France,  the  child  who  is  heir  to  the  P'rench 
throne,"  said  Vera's  father,  his  grim  face  relaxing  at 
Molly's  words  and  manner. 

"  Now  ye've  got  it  straight,  Misther  Brown.  It's 
nothin'  but  a  baby  we're  niakin'  sich  a  fuss  about.  But 
niver  ye  moind,  since  we're  goin'  to  have  the  fuss  and 
frolic.  An'  now  I  must  go  back  to  me  swatehearts.  But 
belave  me,  Misthress  Vera,  none  on  'em  comes  up  to  the 
fust  un.  I've  thried  many  a  one  since  poor  Larry  got 
his  head  shot  off,  but  I  shall  niver  git  his  loikes  agin,"  and 
with  that  she  scampered  off,  to  Vera's  great  relief.  And 
yet  the  maiden  had  cause  to  bless  the  meeting  ever  after- 
wards. 

Escaping  from  the  staring,  laughing  crowd  which 
Molly's  appearance  and  words  drew  around  them,  they 
soon  reached  the  northern  edge  of  the  plain  facing  the 
river,  from  which  point  they  witnessed  a  beautiful  spec- 
tacle. Approaching  the  shore  were  parallel  lines  of 
barges  decorated  with  flags  and  streamers,  and  the  water 
around  them  was  flashing  and  sparkling  under  the 
strokes  of  multitudinous  oars.  These  boats  contained 
General  and  Lady  Washington  and  his  suite,  Governor 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED— GREAT  CHANGES     407 

Clinton  and  his  wife,  eminent  generals  with  their  staffs, 
and  a  large  number  of  prominent  citizens  and  ladies  of 
rank  and  fashion,  A  band  of  music  led  the  way,  and 
accompanied  the  distinguished  guests  up  the  hill  to 
Major-General  McDougall's  quarters,  while  the  artillery 
thundered  out  its  salvo  of  welcome. 

Vera  watched  everything  with  the  wonder  and  delight 
of  a  child,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  her,  and  especially  to 
her  father,  that  the  pageant  absorbed  all  attention,  and 
that  they,  for  a  time,  were  utterly  unnoticed.  It  gave 
them  a  chance  to  recover  from  the  nervousness  and  dis- 
quietude which  their  encounter  with  the  rude  officer  and 
the  irrepressible  Molly  had  occasioned.  As  Washington 
approached,  Vera  recognized  him  with  a  strong  thrill  of 
pride  and  gratitude. 

"He  has  the  same  quiet,  noble  face,"  she  thought ; 
"  he  is  too  great  to  be  elated  by  all  this  pomp  and 
show." 

After  his  Excellency,  his  wife,  and  suite  had  disap- 
peared, Vera  was  annoyed  at  finding  so  many  glances 
turning  towards  her  again.  Unlike,  perhaps,  the  ma- 
jority of  her  fair  sisters  who  have  since  visited  West 
Point  she  did  not  realize  that  her  own  lovely  face  was  the 
chief  cause.  In  fact,  both  father  and  daughter  appeared 
as  if  they  might  have  stepped  out  of  some  old  story  or 
book  of  fairy  tales  ;  and  Tascar,  as  he  followed  them, 
would  have  answered  very  well  as  a  hobgoblin  page. 
Many  young  officers  lingered  near,  and  cast  wistful 
glances  at  the  maiden,  but  their  manner  was  respectful 
and  unobtrusive. 

Vera  now  suggested  that  they  should  find  some  quiet 
nook  near  to  the  great  colonnade,  whence  they  could  see 
all  without  attracting  notice  themselves  ;  and  her  father 
was  only  too  glad  to  accede,  for  this  exposure  was  taxing 
his  resolution  to  give  Vera  a  day  of  pleasure,  at  every 
cost  to  himself,  almost  beyond  his  power  of  endurance. 


408  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Soon  after  their  arrival,  Vera  had  directed  Tascar  to 
find  Surgeon  Jasper  ;  but  he  returned,  saying  that  the 
doctor  had  been  summoned  home,  on  important  matters, 
a  few  days  previous  ;  so  they  had  no  other  resource  than 
to  do  the  best  they  could  themselves. 

They  at  last  found  a  spot  a  little  off  at  one  side,  from 
which,  under  a  clump  of  trees,  they  had  a  good  view  of 
the  plain,  the  colonnade  or  arbor,  and  surrounding 
heights.  Plain  country  people  and  utter  strangers,  who, 
like  themselves,  were  bent  on  seeing  the  pageant,  and 
had  no  other  thought,  sat  down  around  them,  hiding 
them,  in  part,  from  view,  and  shutting  away  the  curious 
and  obtrusive.  It  was  not  long  before  they  felt  a  sense 
of  security  and  retirement  in  this  sheltered  place,  which 
was  decidedly  reassuring,  and  even  the  poor  exile  be- 
came interested  in  the  brave  scenes  before  him, 
especially  as  they  gave  evidence  that  the  Americans 
were  gaining  rather  than  losing  the  power  to  cope  with 
their  most  formidable  enemy. 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  it  seemed  to  them  that 
an  innumerable  host  appeared.  The  hills  on  the  eastern 
side  of  the  river  were  covered  with  troops,  while  from 
every  side  of  the  plain,  and  on  the  circling  heights 
around,  bayonets  began  to  gleam,  led  forward  by  that 
music  which  chiefly  has  the  power  to  set  the  .nerves  ting- 
ling with  excitement.  The  earth  beneath  them  trembled 
under  the  heavy,  rumbling  wheels  of  the  artillery. 
Within  an  hour  the  plain  and  hills  adjacent,  on  both 
sides  of  the  river,  were  covered  with  serried  ranks  of 
men,  their  burnished  weapons  lighting  up  the  scene  with 
flashing  brilliancy,  by  their  vivid  reflection  of  the  genial 
sunlight. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  three  cannons  were 
fired  as  a  signal.  All  the  troops  around  the  immense 
circle  advanced  simultaneously  in  grand  and  glittering 
array  ;  and,  after  a  brief  display,  in  full  view  of  the 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED— GREAT  CHANGES     409 

arbor,  the  men  \\ere  permitted  to  stack  their  arms,  and 
throw  themselves  upon  the  ground,  or  stroll  about  near 
the  line  of  their  position. 

All  the  officers,  except  one  field  officer  to  each  brigade, 
and  one  battalion  officer  to  each  regiment,  repaired  to 
the  colonnade,  where,  they  had  been  informed,  "  General 
Washington  expected  the  pleasure  of  their  company  at 
dinner."  P>om  every  part  of  the  plain,  and  in  barges 
on  the  river,  the  gallant  veterans  of  seven  years  of  war 
were  gathering  to  the  banquet — a  most  unwonted  experi- 
ence to  them. 

But,  while  Vera  was  enjoying  every  moment  beneath 
the  shelter  of  her  tree,  and  in  the  shadow  of  the  honest, 
home-spun  people,  who  were  wondering,  with  breathless 
interest,  at  the  rapidly  shifting  scenes,  she  was  the 
object  of  plots  and  counterplots.  The  officer  whose  in- 
solence had  been  punished,  in  part,  went  away  with 
oaths  of  vengeance.  As  far  as  he  could  learn,  Vera  was 
friendless,  and  her  father  under  a  cloud  of  some  kind,  so 
that  there  would  be  no  one'  to  resent  any  indignity  he 
might  offer  them.  He  knew  well  where  to  find  men  of 
the  basest  sort  like  himself,  and,  as  liquor  flowed  like 
water  that  day,  the  evil-disposed  were  ready  for  any 
reckless  deed.  He  resolved  that  if  Vera  stayed  until 
the  dusk  of  the  evening,  he  would  carry  her  off  to  his 
quarters  up  the  river.  He  laid  his  plans  cunningly, 
rapidly,  and  secretly,  taking  into  his  plot  only  a  sufficient 
number  to  carry  it  out.  It  was  briefly  this  :  After  night 
obscured  everything,  he  and  his  party  would  suddenly 
crowd  up  and  around  his  victim,  separate  her  from  her 
father,  tie  a  handkerchief  over  her  mouth,  so  that  she 
could  make  no  outcry,  and  spirit  her  off  to  the  shore, 
where  a  boat  would  be  in  waiting.  But  it  so  happened 
that  a  bad  fellow  of  this  officer's  company  was  one  of 
Captain  Molly's  satellites  ;  for  she  still  was  not  over- 
choice  in  her  company.  She  saw  this  man  summoned 


410  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

away  for  a  few  moments  by  his  captain,  and  the 
whispered  conference  that  followed  ;  and  the  quick- 
witted camp-follower  surmised  that  a  plot  against  Vera 
was  on  foot. 

"  What  did  that  spalpeen  say  to  ye  ?  "  she  asked  the 
man  on  his  return  to  her  side. 

"  He  was  a-tellin'  me  what  a  handsome  woman  ye  is." 

"  If  ye  don't  tell  me  what  he  said,  ye  may  take  yerself 
off." 

"Now,  Molly,  me  darlint,  why  should  ye  care  what 
he  said  ?  " 

"I  don't  care;  I've  only  took  a  notion  to  see  how 
good  a  friend  ye' re  to  me." 

"  Well,  ye  won't  tell,  thin,  nor  do  anythin'  to  sthop 
the  fun  that's  up  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Well,  the  capting,  who  is  moighty  swate  on  the 
women,  is  a-gwine  to  carry  off  a  perty  little  gall  to-night, 
and  I'm  to  help  him,"  he  whispered  in  her  ear. 

"Is  that  all  ?  "  she  said  carelessly. 

"  I  tould  ye  it  was  somethin'  ye  wouldn't  care  nothin" 
about."  t 

Molly  made  no  further  reference  to  the  subject,  but 
not  long  after  she  casually,  and  with  no  apparent  motive, 
took  a  position  where  she  could  keep  Vera  and  her 
father  constantly  under  her  eye,  and  she  continued  to. 
maintain  such  a  position. 

As  the  sun  declined  towards  the  western  highlands, 
General  and  Lady  Washington,  his  suite,  and  the  most 
distinguished  guests  moved  from  General  McDougall's 
quarters,  through  lines  of  saluting  soldiers,  to  the  arbor, 
where  was  spread  as  elegant  a  dinner  as  the  times  and 
circumstances  permitted.  Five  hundred  guests,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  sat  down  to  the  dinner,  and  the  thou- 
sands who  looked  on,  kept  by  the  guards  at  a  respectful 
distance,  regarded  these  favored  ones  as  among  the  im- 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED— GREAT  CHANGES     411 

mortals.  Vera  saw  Washington  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
and  she  wondered  how  one  so  exalted  in  station  could 
have  been  so  simple  and  kind  in  his  manner  towards  her. 
She  found  herself  watching  him,  and  thinking  about  his 
interview  with  her,  during  the  time  he  was  presiding 
over  the  banquet. 

But  there  was  another,  seated  towards  the  further  end 
of  the  table,  who  would  have  absorbed  her  thoughts  com- 
pletely had  she  known  of  his  presence.  Pale,  thin  from 
much  suffering,  and  with  the  sleeve  of  his  left  arm  hang- 
ing empty  at  his  side,  Saville  sat  quietly  among  the  guests, 
equally  in  ignorance  that  the  one  never  far  from  his 
thoughts  was  but  a  few  rods  away.  He  had  heard  of  the 
proposed  fete  in  honor  of  the  Dauphin,  had  hastened  his 
journey,  and  arrived  just  in  time  to  sit  down  with  his 
brother  officers  beneath  the  rustic  arbor.  The  insignia 
upon  his  uniform  showed  that  he  had  been  promoted  to 
the  rank  of  colonel ;  but  the  expression  of  his  face  re- 
vealed that  he  had  achieved  a  character  which  is  above 
all  earthly  rank  and  distinction. 

He  had  not  written  to  Vera  of  the  serious  nature  of  his 
wound,  and  of  the  irreparable  loss  it  had  occasioned, 
knowing  that  it  would  pain  her  to  no  purpose.  She  would 
grieve  over  it  continually  ;  but,  when  she  came  to  see 
him,  he  could,  in  a  measure,  make  light  of  it. 

Saville  found  himself  seated  next  to  an  officer  possess- 
ing the  same  rank  as  himself,  and  of  a  very  noble  mien, 
and  distinguished  bearing.  There  was  a  peculiar  gravity 
in  his  manner  and  expression,  and  he  seemed  to  have  no 
disposition  to  become  convivial,  as  was  the  case  with  the 
majority.  This  made  him  all  the  more  a  congenial  com- 
panion to  Saville,  and  they  both  speedily  became  inter- 
ested in  each  other.  Saville  thought  he  had  never  met  a 
man  of  more  wide  and  varied  information,  or  one  better 
able  to  express  himself  with  elegance  and  force.  He  also 
noted  that  he  was  treated  with  deference  by  those  who 


412  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

knew  him.  The  stranger  soon  introduced  himself  as 
Colonel  Wellingly,  adding,  with  fine  courtesy,  "  I  have 
long  known  you,  Colonel  Saville,  by  reputation  as  an  ac- 
complished engineer  officer,  and  I  have  heard  of  your 
gallantry  at  Yorktown." 

"I  feel  highly  honored,"  Saville  replied,  "that  rny 
name  has  ever  had  favorable  mention  to  you  ;  but  I  con- 
fess that  I  am  thoroughly  tired  of  war,  and  would  be  glad 
to  devote  what  there  is  left  of  me  to  the  arts  of  peace." 

"  Well,"  said  Colonel  Wellingly  musingly,  "  I  suppose 
the  war  is  practically  over,  and  I  am  glad,  on  account  of 
the  evils  and  suiferiiig  it  ever  occasions.  But  I  am  at  a 
loss  to  know  to  what  I  shall  devote  myself,  unless  it  be  to 
the  erection  .of  a  hunting-lodge  among  these  "magnificent 
-mountains.  ,1  have  never  seen  a  better  .place  in  which  to 
•while  away  the  .useless  remnant  of  a  life." 

From  the  first  Saville  had  detected  a  low  undertone  of 
sorrow  and  disappointment  in  the  man's  words  ,and  .ac- 
cent. Colonel  Wellingly  evidently  knew  that  he  had 
suffered  deeply  in  the  past,  for  he  said,  as  the  cloth  was 
being  removed,  preparatory  to  the  drinking  of  toasts, 

"We  have  both  seen  trouble  in  our  day,  Colonel 
Saville ,;  but  I  envy  you  the  hopeful  spirit  you  possess, 
and  the  purpose  still  to. accomplish  something  in  life.  I 
am  growing  listless  and  tired." 

Thirteen  toasts,  appropriate  to  the  occasion,  were  an- 
nounced successively,  and. each  one  was  followed  by  the 
discharge  of  artillery  and  joyous  music,  and,  by  not  a 
few,  with  long,  deep  potations,  which  juade  their  march 
to  their  quarters  anything  but  steady. 

After  the  thirteenth  toast  was  drank,  the  guests  rose 
from  the  tables,  which  were  rapidly  cleared  away  in  prep- 
aration for  the  dancing  of  the  evening,  and  the  reg- 
imental officers  Joined  their  respective  commands. 

As  the  .twilight  deepened,  the  feu-de-joie  which  had 
been  ordered  commenced  with  the  thunder  of  thirteen 


A  MY&TEEY  SOLVED—GREAT  CHANGES     413 

cannon,  followed  by  volleys  of  musketry  along  the  whole 
line  of  the  army  on  the  surrounding  hills.  Three  times 
the  circling  lines  of  fire  flashed  out,  and  the  hills  and 
mountains  were  kept  resounding  with  the  mighty  echoes, 
until  they  gave  way  to  another  and  more  awe-inspiring 
sound — the  thrice-repeated  shout  of  acclamation  and 
benediction  for  the  Dauphin,  by  the  united  voices  of  the 
entire  army,  on  every  side.  The  poor  boy  was  destined 
to  soon  hear,  and  from  his  own  people,  volleyed  curses, 
instead  of  benedictions,  and  a  pitiless  cry  for  his  blood, 
instead  of  loyal  acclamations. 

As  the  last  vehement  shout  died  away,  the  night  was 
illuminated  by  a  brilliant  display  of  fireworks  from  Fort 
Webb.  The  discharge  of  three  cannon  concluded  the 
ceremonies  of  the  day,  and  was  the  signal  for  the  troops 
to  march  to  their  cantonments. 

In  the  meantime  the  arbor  or  colonnade  had  been 
brilliantly  lighted  up,  and  the  dancing  was  about  to 
commence.  Vera  had  been  almost  overwhelmed  with 
awe  at  the  deep  reverberations  of  the  artillery  and  the 
impressive  closing  scenes.  She  now  persuaded  her  father 
to  let  her  see  Washington  open  the  ball,  and  then  she 
would  return  home  fully  content.  And  when  his  Ex- 
cellency, with  dignity  and  grace,  having  Mrs.  General 
Knox  for  partner,  carried  down  a  dance  of  twenty  couples 
in  the  stately  minuet,  she  felt  as  if  the  grandest  visions 
which  her  old  friend  Will  Shakespeare  had  ever  raised  in 
her  mind,  had  been  more  than  fulfilled. 

But  all  was  growing  confused  and  somewhat  disorderly 
where  they  stood,  and  her  father  had  said  more  than 
once, 

"  Come,  Vera,  it  is  getting  late,  and  we  have  far  to 

g°-" 

Vera  turned  away  with  a  deep  sigh  ;  she  had  ever  felt 
a  longing  for  social  pleasures  and  the  companionship  of 
people  of  culture.  The  beautiful  and  brilliant  scene  be- 


414  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

fore  her  showed  how  attractive  such  occasions  were  in 
reality,  and  she  had  looked  on  with  the  natural  desires  of 
a  young  and  healthful  mind.  She  had  once  hoped 
to  participate  in  such  social  reunions  at  the  side  of  Saville, 
and  even  the  thought  had  been  ecstasy.  But  now  she 
felt  that  the  deep  shade,  which  fell  so  early  across  their 
humble  mountain  cabin,  was  the  type  of  the  sombre 
shadow  that  would  ever  rest  upon  her  life. 

"  Come,  Vera,"  said  her  father  still  more  urgently  to 
the  girl,  who  was  lingering,  for  she  saw  in  the  gay 
throng  beneath  the  arbor  a  face  that  reminded  her  of 
Saville. 

They  found  their  steps  impeded  ;  the  confusion  around 
them  increased  ;  suddenly  her  father  was  struck  down  by 
a  blow  from  some  one  behind  him,  and  before  Vera 
could  cry  out,  a  handkerchief  was  passed  around  her 
mouth,  two  men  seized  her  hands  on  either  side  and 
thrust  them  within  their  arms,  and  she  was  being  forced 
away  in  the  darkness,  she  knew  not  whither ;  but  she 
could  not  help  associating  the  dark,  bloated-faced  officer 
who  had  twice  before  insulted  her,  with  the  outrage. 

The  assault  had  been  cunningly  conceived  and  skil- 
fully carried  out,  for  the  villainous  accomplices  were  mak- 
ing loud  demonstrations  around  the  prostrate  father,  thus 
drawing  the  attention  and  the  crowd  thither,  while  the 
daughter  was  being  hurried  off  unperceived. 

Never,  perhaps,  had  Vera  been  in  greater  peril  before. 
She  was  so  overcome  by  terror  and  a  sense  of  suffoca- 
tion that  she  was  almost  fainting,  when  the  handkerchief 
was  snatched  from  her  mouth,  and  she  wrenched  vio- 
lently from  the  grasp  of  her  captors. 

"Ye  spalpeens!"  cried  Captain  Molly,  with  a  wild 
Irish  howl,  and  she  drew  her  nails  across  the  eyes  of  one 
of  the  men.  No  wildcat  of  the  neighboring  mountains 
could  have  given  a  deeper  or  more  vindictive  scratch, 
and  he  was  glad  to  stumble  off  in  the  darkness  away 


A  MYSTER Y  SOL  VED—GREA  T  CHANGES      415 

from  the  crowd  which  Molly's  shrill  voice  was  rapidly 
gathering. 

But  it  was  towards  the  principal  villain  that  the  re- 
doubtable "captain"  directed  her  chief  attention,  and 
she  laid  upon  him  a  clutch  from  which  he  vainly  sought 
to  escape. 

"  I'll  tache  ye  a  lesson,"  she  yelled.  "  Ye  shall  have 
some  wounds  afore  the  war  is  over,  I  warrant  ye,  an' 
they  won't  be  in  yer  back  'nuther,  but  on  yer  big  bloated 
face,  where  yer  grandchildren  kin  see  the  scars  ;  "  and 
she  clawed  him  like  a  tigress,  and  until  his  cries  made  a 
duet  with  her  own  shrill  voice. 

On  being  released,  Vera  had  looked  around  a  moment 
in  hesitating  terror.  She  could  not  see  her  father,  and 
she  knew  not  where  he  was.  All  around  were  dark, 
strange  faces,  and  hurrying  forms  of  men  and  women, 
and  the  air  was  filled  with  confused  cries,  above  which 
arose  Molly's  loud  vituperation,  for  with  every  blow  and 
scratch  she  fired  a  volley  of  epithets.  But  a  few  rods 
away,  the  bewildered  girl  saw  the  lighted  arbor,  with 
Washington  full  in  view.  If  she  could  reach  him  she 
knew  that  she  would  be  safe.  She  darted  through  the 
intervening  throng,  past  the  startled  and  astonished 
guests,  and  knelt  at  his  feet. 

"Officer  of  the  guard,"  cried  Washington  sternly, 
"  what  means  such  ruffianly  disorder  without  that  women 
must  fly  to  us  for  protection  ?  Arrest  all  concerned  in  it. 
What  do  you  wish,  madam  ?  Do  not  be  afraid,"  he  said 
to  Vera. 

"  Your  Excellency,"  cried  Saville,  stepping  eagerly 
forward,  "  I  will  answer  for  that  maiden  with  my  life." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  Vera  sprang  to  his  side  and 
clung,  panting,  to  his  arm. 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Saville,  I  think  that  she  is  capable  of 
answering  for  herself.  If  I  mistake  not,  I  have  met  this 
young  girl  before." 


416  NEAE  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency,"  faltered  Vera,  with  her  hand 
upon  her  side  ;  "  and  you  were  kind  to  me  and  therefore 
I  fled  to  you  for  protection  now." 

"And  you  shall  have  full  protection,  my  child;  so, 
calm  your  fears.  Indeed,  Mr.  Saville  looks  as  if  he 
might  defend  you  against  the  world." 

By  this  time  the  attention  of  all  was  directed  to  Colonel 
Wellingly.  With  a  face  as  pallid  as  that  of  Vera's,  he 
came  forward  and  asked,  in  a  husky  voice, 

"  Will  you  please  tell  me  your  name  ?  " 

"Vera — Vera  Brown." 

"  Is  that  your  only  name  ?  " 

"Yes." 

The  colonel  looked  at  her  a  moment,  shook  his  head 
despondently,  and  muttered,  as  he  stepped  back, 

"  It's  very,  very  strange.  I  never  saw  such  a  re- 
semblance ;  and  the  same  old  habit,  too,  of  putting  her 
hand  to  her  side." 

"  O  Theron  !  you  have  lost  an  arm.  You  did  not  tell 
me,"  said  Vera,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  That  is  a  small  loss  compared  with  all  I  have  gained. 
I  did  not  wish  to  pain " 

"  My  daughter,  where  is  my  daughter?  "  cried  a  loud, 
agonized  voice  from  without,  and  wrenching  himself 
away  from  the  guards  who  had  arrested  him  as  one  of 
the  disturbers  of  the  peace,  the  exile  rushed  into  the 
lighted  arbor.  All  fell  back  before  his  tall  form,  and 
wild,  threatening  aspect,  for  the  expression  of  his  face 
was  a  terrible  blending  of  anguish  and  rage. 

"She  is  here,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Saville  promptly. 
"You  are  both  among  friends;"  and  he  led  Vera  to 
him  and  placed  her  hand  in  his. 

"Come,"  said  her  father  eagerly;  "let  us  go.  Let 
us  escape  while  we  can." 

Again  Colonel  Wellingly  stepped  forward  and  con- 
fronted the  exile. 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED— GREAT  CHANGES      417 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  excitedly. 

The  moment  Mr.  Brown's  eyes  fell  on  the  questioner, 
he  staggered  back  as  if  he  had  received  a  heavy  blow. 

"Are  you  Arthur  Wellingly  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  strange, 
hoarse  whisper. 

"  I  am,"  was  the  agitated  answer. 

"  You  did  not  die,  then  ? ' ' 

"  No,  Guy  ;  and  I  have  been  searching  for  you  all 
these  years.  O  my  brother!"  and  he  clasped  the 
trembling  exile  to  his  heart. 

"O  Esther,  Esther!  my  poor,  dead  wife!  why  could 
you  not  have  seen  this  day  ?"  Guy  Wellingly  groaned, 
with  remorseful  memories. 

"She  is  dead,  then?"  his  brother  said,  in  a  low, 
shuddering  tone. 

"  Yes,  dead." 

At  this  moment,  Vera,  to  whom  the  strange  scene 
began  to  grow  intelligible,  stepped  forward  and  said 
earnestly, 

"  No,  father — no,  uncle — not  dead,  but  in  heaven." 

"This  is  a  remarkable  scene,"  said  Washington,  with 
moistened  eyes.  "Colonel  Wellingly,  .1  congratulate 
you  on  the  success  of  your  long  search,  of  which  I  have 
often  heard  with  sympathy.  I  already  esteem  myself  as 
among  the  friends  of  your  niece,  and  think  you  will 
have  just  cause  to  be  proud  of  her  ;  and  I  shall  hope  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  your  brother.  I  now  suggest 
that  you  take  your  relatives  to  your  quarters,  for  you 
must  have  much  to  speak  of  in  which  strangers  have  no 
part. ' ' 

"  I  thank  your  Excellency,"  was  the  grateful  reply. 
"  I  have  been  so  overwhelmed  by  this  unexpected  meet- 
ing that  I  am  not  myself." 

"  Your  emotions  are  most  natural,  sir,  and  are  to  your 
credit." 

"  Vera,"  said  Saville,  coming  to  her  side  and  taking 


418  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

her  hand,  "  I  am  overjoyed  at  your  good  fortune.  I 
thank  God  from  the  depths  of  my  heart.  My  little  wild 
flower  has  become  a' great  lady." 

He  felt  her  fingers  seeking  her  mother's  ring,  and  she 
answered  in  a  low  tone,  "  No  outward  changes  can 
change  that  of  which  this  ring  is  the  token.  You  shall 
ever  be  first.  Good-night." 

But  before  they  could  move  away,  a  shrill  voice  just 
without  the  arbor  cried, 

"  Ye  didn't  arrist  him  at  all  ;  I  arristed  him  meself, 
and  I'm  a  goin'  to  take  him  afore  his  Ixcellency.  Git 
out  o'  the  way,  ye  spalpeens,  or  I'll  tear  yer  eyes  out  ; " 
and  she  broke  from  the  guards,  dragging  her  bleeding, 
half-murdered  captive  with  her,  and  did  not  stop  till  she 
stood  before  Washington. 

"  This  is  the  spalpeen,  your  Ixcellency,  as  was  carryin' 
of  the  perty  Misthress  Vera.  I  heerd  the  hull  plot,  and 
I  cotched  him  in  the  very  dade." 

"What  does  all  this  mean?"  demanded  Washington 
sternly,  and  yet  with  difficulty  maintaining  his  gravity, 
for  the  wretched  officer  looked  like  a  torn  quarry  in  the 
claws  of  some  strange  bird  of  prey. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  all  we  can  tell  your  Excellency  is  that 
we  found  him  on  the  ground,  and  this  woman  on  top  of 
him  pounding  him  within  an  inch  of  his  life." 

At  this  there  was  a  general  and  irrepressible  burst  of 
laughter,  in  which  even  Washington  joined  for  a  mo- 
ment. But,  instantly  recovering  his  gravity,  he  asked, 

"  Miss  Wellingly,  does  this  woman  state  the  truth 
about  this  man  ?  " 

"  She  does,  your  Excellency  ;  but  I  think  that  he  has 
been  sufficiently  punished  and  humiliated  already." 

"  I  cannot  agree  with  you  upon  this  occasion,"  said 
Washington,  his  face  becoming  almost  terrible  in  his 
indignation.  Then  addressing  Captain  Molly,  he  asked, 


A  MYSTERY  SOLVED— GREAT  CHANGES      419 

"  You  are  the  woman  who  took  her  husband's  place 
at  his  gun  in  the  battle  of  Monmouth  ?  " 

"I  be,  your  Ixcellency;  an'  it  was  moighty  swate  in 
ye  to  give  me  the  pay  and  rank  of  sergeant." 

Washington's  face  twitched  a  moment,  but  he  man- 
aged to  say,  with  his  former  sternness, 

"  You  are  a  far  better  soldier  than  the  craven  whom  I 
am  glad  to  see  in  your  clutches.  Will  you  oblige  me  by 
taking  from  his  uniform  all  insignia  of  rank?" 

"  Faix,  yer  Ixcellency,  I  will.  Barrin'  the  presence  of 
the  foine  leddies,  I'd  take  ivery  stetch  off  him  as  I'd  sk^n 
an  eel." 

A  roar  of  laughter  followed  this  speech,  and  her 
miserable  victim  looked  as  if  he  would  indeed  be  glad  to 
have  the  mountains  fall  and  cover  him  from  the  universal 
scorn. 

"Now,"  continued  Washington  to  an  officer,  "take 
him  to  the  guard-house,  and  to-morrow  I  wish  him 
drummed  out  of  camp  with  the  Rogue's  March  ;  "  and 
the  culprit  was  led  away. 

"  Come,  my  dear  niece,  my  heart  is  too  full  to  endure 
this  publicity  any  longer,"  said  Colonel  Wellingly. 

"In  one  moment,"  Vera  replied;  and  crossing  to 
Captain  Molly,  she  took  her  hand  in  both  of  hers, 
saying, 

"  I  thank  you  from  the  depths  of  my  heart.  If  you 
ever  need  a  friend,  come  to  me." 

"  Have  ye  become  a  great  leddy  ?" 

"  I  should  not  be  a  lady  at  all  did  I  fail  to  remember, 
with  grateful  affection,  all  who  were  kind  to  me  in  my 
need.  Good-bye  for  the  present,  my  brave,  true  friend. 
I  owe  you  more  than  words  can  express." 

"  An'  ye  pay  me  in  the  coin  I  loikes  best.  Faix,  ther's 
nothin'  that  goes  furder  wid  man  nor  baste  than  a  koind 
word.  Though  I'm  a  bit  rough  and  reckless  loike,  I'd 


420  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

ruther  have  ye  spake  to  me  as  ye  does  than  a  hatful  of 
crowns." 

"The  money  shall  not  be  lacking,  either,"  said  Colonel 
Wellingly,  offering  her  his  purse. 

"  Not  a  penny  will  I  iver  take  for  anythin'  I've  done 
for  Misthress  Vera,"  and  she  darted  away. 

With  a  low  courtesy  to  General  and  Lady  Washington, 
and  a  swift  glance  to  Saville,  Vera  permitted  herself  to 
be  led  away  with  her  father  ;  and  the  wondering  guests 
were  boundless  in  their  admiration,  and  almost  equally 
so  in  queries  that  could  not  as  yet  be  answered. 

Tascar,  who  had  been  watching  all  in  a  state  of  excite- 
ment that  made  him  almost  as  explosive  as  one  of  the 
cartridges  of  the  feu-de-joie,  was  sent  to  inform  old  Gula 
that  her  master  and  mistress  would  not  return  that  night ; 
and  the  tale  he  told  his  mother,  and  acted  out  in  panto- 
mime that  night,  was  more  marvelous  than  any  of  her 
weird  imaginings. 

A  few  hours  later  the  beautiful  colonnade  or  arbor  was 
darkened,  and  echoed  only  to  a  lonely  sentinel's  tread. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

EXPLANATIONS 

EVEN  the  rude  temporary  quarters  which  Colonel  Wel- 
lingly  occupied,  at  West  Point,  gave  evidence  that  he  was 
a  man  of  wealth  and  culture ;  for,  as  far  as  possible,  he 
had  surrounded  himself  with  objects  that  ministered  to 
refined  and  luxurious  tastes.  He  had  been  the  more  in- 
clined to  carry  out  his  bent,  from  the  fact  that  his  duties 
would,  in  all  probability,  keep  him  at  his  present  location 
for  a  long  time. 

In  the  fulness  of  his  heart  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  not 
do  enough  for  his  brother  and  niece  ;  and,  for  one  nat- 
urally stately  and  reserved,  his  manner  was  affectionate 
in  the  extreme.  He  embraced  Vera  again  and  again,  and 
his  eyes  rested  on  her  with  an  expression  of  wistful  ten- 
derness, which  proved  that  she  was  the  embodiment  of  a 
very  dear  memory. 

When  he  heard  that  they  had  not  partaken  of  any  re- 
freshment since  their  frugal  lunch  early  in  the  day,  he 
brought  out  a  bottle  of  rich  old  madeira,  and  ordered  his 
servant  to  prepare  as  sumptuous  a  supper  as  could  be 
provided  promptly. 

"  I  cannot  realize  it  all,"  said  Vera  again  and  again  ; 
and  her  father  ejaculated,  more  than  once, 

"Thank  God !  your  blood,  Arthur,  is  not  on  my  soul. 
It  is  now  possible  that  I  may  again  become  a  man." 
After  a  few  moments  he  asked  hesitatingly, 

"  Shall  we  tell  Vera?     She  does  not  know." 

"Yes,  Guy;  it's  right  she  should  know.  I  will  tell 
her,  for  I  feel  that  I  am  as  much,  if  not  more,  to  blame 
than  you." 


422  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  No,  Arthur  ;  no.  There  is  no  excuse  for  the  mur- 
derous blow  I  struck  you,  and  the  remorse  and  fear,  that 
have  followed  me  through  all  these  years,  have  nearly 
destroyed  my  reason.  I  sank  lower  than  the  beasts  ;  for 
they,  at  least,  provide  for  their  own.  I  wonder  that  you 
can  forgive  me.  I  can  never  forgive  myself." 

"  I  do  forgive,  and  in  the  same  breath  ask  forgiveness. 
Henceforth  we  must  be  to  each  other  all  that  she  who  is 
dead  would  have  wished.  I  shall  seek  to  make  repara- 
tion to  you  and  Vera  to  the  extent  of  my  ability,  and  you 
shall  share  in  all  I  possess.  It  is  best  that  Vera  should 
know  everything,  for  with  those  who  are  as  closely  united 
as  we  shall  be,  there  should  be  no  mysteries.  Vera,  the 
highest  praise  I  can  give  you  is,  that  you  closely  resemble 
your  mother  when  she  was  of  your  age.  Never  did  a 
maiden  live  who  had  greater  power  to  win  and  keep  af- 
fection than  Esther  Ainsley.  She  was  of  humble  station, 
being  the  daughter  of  a  curate,  who  had  a  small  charge 
near  to  our  estate  ;  but  she  was  dowered  with  a  beauty 
of  person  and  character  which  I  have  never  seen  equaled. 
Our  mother  died  when  Guy  and  myself  were  children, 
and  our  father  died  before  I  was  through  with  my  studies, 
so  that  I  as  eldest  son,  became  heir  to  a  large  property, 
at  a  time  when  I  needed  restraint,  guidance,  and  counsel, 
more  than  wealth  and  independence.  The  lessons  of 
self-control  and  patience,  which  should  have  been  taught 
us  in  childhood  and  youth,  were  left  to  the  schooling  of 
bitter  experience  ;  and  bitter,  in  truth,  it  has  been  to  us 
both.  I  valued  my  untrammeled  position  chiefly  because 
there  was  no  one  to  prevent  me  from  marrying  the 
daughter  of  this  obscure  and  penniless  curate.  Only  her 
own  will,  which  was  as  strong  as  she  was  gentle,  did  pre- 
vent the  marriage,  for  I  sought  in  every  possible  way  to 
shake  her  resolution.  There  was  not  a  trace  of  gratified 
vanity  in  her  refusal,  but  only  the  keenest  distress.  At 
last  she  told  me  that  she  loved  some  one  else,  and  I  think 


EXPLANATIONS  423 

she  was  about  to  inform  me  who  it  was,  but  my  darkly 
vindictive  face  prevented  her.  Egotistic  and  passionate 
fool  that  1  was,  I  felt  that  no  one  had  a  right  to  thwart 
me,  and  I  determined  to  discover  the  one,  whom  1  at  once 
regarded  as  a  personal  enemy.  To  be  brief,  I  was  not 
long  in  learning  that  it  was  Guy,  my  younger  and  only 
brother  ;  but,  in  the  infatuation  of  my  passion,  this  fact 
made  no  difference,  and,  as  the  eldest,  I  would  brook  no 
rivalry.  1  confronted  him  one  evening,  as  he  was  return- 
ing from  a  tryst  with  Esther,  and  arrogantly  informed 
him  that  he  could  not  cross  my  path  in  this  matter.  I 
first  made  him  a  large  offer,  if  he  would  quit  the  coun- 
try and  leave  the  field  clear  for  me.  But  he  said,  and 
with  good  reason,  that  he  would  not  relinquish  Esther 
Ainsley  for  the  wealth  of  England,  much  less  for  the  piti- 
ful sum  I  offered.  One  word  led  to  another.  We  both 
became  enraged,  and  at  last  I  sprang  towards  him  in  a 
transport  of  passion,  and  he,  equally  unmanned,  struck 
me  on  the  head  with  a  heavy  cane  that  he  carried  and 
for  weeks  thereafter  I  was  unconscious." 

Guy  Wellingly,  who  was  sitting  with  his  face  buried  in 
his  hands,  groaned  deeply. 

"You  see,  Vera,"  continued  her  uncle,  "I  was  even 
more  to  blame  than  he.  I  had  it  in  my  heart  to  strike 
just  as  heavy  a  blow.  Indeed,  we  were  both  beside  our- 
selves at  the  time,  and  scarcely  responsible.  The  trouble 
was  that  neither  of  us  had  ever  learned  the  first  lesson 
of  self-restraint." 

"O  Arthur!  I  was  sure  I  had  killed  you.  I  brought 
water  from  the  brook,  but  I  could  not  revive  you,  and 
then  came  the  one  desperate,  all-absorbing  desire  to  fly 
and  hide,  which  has  been  my  curse  ever  since.  I  felt 
that  I  had  upon  me  the  mark  of  Cain." 

"  We  have  both  paid  dearly  for  that  rash  quarrel,  in 
which  I  insist  that  I  was  to  blame  more  truly  than  your- 
self. I  had  a  narrow  escape  from  death.  My  body  serv- 


424  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HE  AST 

ant  found  me  late  at  night,  and  I  revived  only  to  pass 
into  a  brain  fever,  and  then  after  I  regained  consciousness 
came  the  dreary  weeks  of  slow  convalescence,  in  which 
recovery  was  retarded  by  my  restlessness  and  self-re- 
proach. For  a  time  I  tried  to  forget  my  sorrow  and  dis- 
appointment in  dissipation,  but  I  soon  turned  from  sensual 
excess  with  loathing.  In  every  sane  moment  I  saw 
Esther's  pure,  reproachful  face.  I  do  not  think  that  a 
man,  who  has  been  absorbed  by  a  lave  for  a  pure,  good 
woman,  can  ever  make  a  beast  of  himself,  unless  there  is 
something  essentially  gross  in  his  nature. 

"As  soon  as  I  was  able,  I  traced  you  and  Esther  to 
Liverpool,  and  all  I  could  learn  was  that  you  had  been 
married  and  had  sailed  for  America.  Her  father  and 
mother  were  quite  broken-hearted  at  the  loss  of  their 
child.  The  only  alleviation  of  their  sorrow  that  I  could 
give  was  to  secure  to  them  a  competence  for  life.  As 
time  passed  on,  and  I  brooded  over  the  past,  quiet  life  in 
England  became  hateful  to  me.  I  resolved  that  I  would 
come  to  this  country  and  try  to  find  you.  As  the  years 
passed,  this  search  became  a  passion  with  me,  and  the 
increasing  difficulty  and  doubt  only  stimulated  my  pur- 
pose. It  was  a  good  thing  for  me,  for  it  absorbed  my  sad 
thoughts,  and  kept  my  mind  from  preying  on  itself.  I 
would  often  follow  a  supposed  clue  for  months,  only  to 
be  disappointed.  I  have  often  passed  up  and  down  this 
river,  little  dreaming  that  the  objects  of  my  search  w'ere 
but  a  few  hundred  rods  away.  Oh  !  that  I  had  found 
you  in  time  to  have  seen  Esther,  and  asked  her  forgive- 
ness. 

"  But  a  few  words  more  will  explain  how  I  happen  to 
be  in  the  Continental  service.  In  my  wandering  over 
this  country,  I  became  greatly  enamored  with  its  beauty 
and  magnificence,  while  the  wildness  of  many  of  its  vast 
solitudes  accorded  with  my  moods  and  tastes.  I  am 
very  fond  of  hunting,  and  I  could  gratify  that  bent  here 


EXPLA  NA  TIONS  425 

to  my  heart's  desire.  I  have  no  special  ties  in  England, 
so  I  returned  thither,  sold  my  estate  to  advantage,  and,  to 
insure  myself,  invested  large  sums  in  France  and  Hol- 
land, as  well  as  England,  in  addition  to  that  which  I 
brought  with  me  to  this  country.  When  the  American 
struggle  for  independence  commenced,  my  heart  took 
sides  with  this  people.  They  had  been  so  kind  and 
sympathetic  in  every  case,  as  they  learned  that  I  was  try- 
ing to  find  relatives  who  had  migrated  hither,  that  I 
identified  myself  with  their  cause  from  the  first.  Besides, 
my  long  residence  here  convinced  me  of  its  justness. 
On  seeing  that  the  struggle  was  inevitable,  I  instructed  my 
English  agent  to  transfer  my  funds  to  Holland,  and  from 
thence  I  have  drawn  them  largely  hither,  and  the  Ameri- 
can Government  is,  to  some  extent,  in  my  debt.  During 
the  war,  I  sought  the  duty  of  a  staff  officer,  as  it  brought 
me  in  contact  with  many  troops  from  all  parts  of  the  coun- 
try, and  enabled  me  to  continue  my  inquiries  concerning 
any  one  answering  to  your  name  and  description.  But 
you  escaped  me  utterly,  until  our  most  unexpected  meet- 
ing to-night.  I  was  getting  weary  and  discouraged  in  my 
search.  I  was  becoming  oppressed  with  my  loneliness, 
and  life  began  to  drag  heavily  ;  but  now  that  I  have  found 
you,  Guy,  and  have  this  dear  girl,  Avho  is  the  image  of 
her  mother,  to  provide  for,  I  shall  find  abundant  zest  in 
living." 

As  he  finished  his  narration,  Vera  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck,  and  said, 

"  I  am  equal  to  mother  in  only  one  thing.  I  can  love 
very  deeply,  and  you  have  won  my  heart  already.  I 
won't  let  you  regret  having  found  me,  uncle."  Then 
going  to  her  father's  side,  she  added,  with  reassuring 
caresses, 

' '  After  this  night,  do  not  again  doubt  that  God  is  good, 
father.  Though  I  never  before  knew  what  the  deed  was 
that  led  to.  your  flight  from  England,  I  have  been  sure 


426  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

that  Mr.  Saville's  words  were  true,  and  that  your  '  re- 
morse was  greater  than  your  crime.'  " 

"No,  Vera,"  replied  her  father,  in  strong  emotion. 
"If  I  had  in  fact  slain  this  generous  and  forgiving 
brother,  I  should  never  have  known  peace  in  this  or  any 
other  world.  As  it  is,  Arthur,  I  am  but  a  miserable 
wreck  of  a  man,  warped,  by  base  fear  and  years  of 
brooding  remorse,  from  all  good  and  noble  uses.  There 
is  nothing  that  makes  such  awful  havoc  in  the  soul  as  a 
constant  sense  of  guilt.  The  knowledge  that  you  are 
living  has  brought  me  inexpressible  relief,  and  I  ask 
nothing  more,  and  nothing  better  than  this  fact.  But 
Vera  still  has  life  before  her.  I  have  at  times  meditated 
self-destruction,  in  the  hope  that  she  might  thus  escape 
the  curse  which  I  felt  resting  on  me  ;  but  something  held 
me  back." 

"  Thank  God  !  "  murmured  Vera  shuddering. 

"  Now  she  can  be  very  happy,"  continued  her  father. 
"  Since  I  am  not  the  foul  criminal  that,  in  justice  to  Mr. 
Saville,  I  told  him  that  I  was,  his  pride  will  no  longer  be 
an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  their  marriage." 

"  Vera  marry  Colonel  Saville  !  "  exclaimed  her  uncle. 
"  He  is  married  already." 

"Saville  married!"  ejaculated  her  father,  in  un- 
bounded surprise  and  rising  anger.  "Then  I  have  an 
account  to  settle  with  him  ;  "  and  his  tall  form  towered 
up  instinct  with  passion. 

At  the  mention  of  Saville's  name  Vera's  face  became 
scarlet  ;  then,  at  her  father's  words,  her  pallor  was 
equally  marked. 

"Vera,"  said  her  uncle,  in  a  tone  of  deep  distress, 
"  what  trouble  have  we  here  ?  " 

But  the  maiden,  strong  in  her  conscious  rectitude, 
rallied  promptly,  and,  in  a  firm,  quiet  tone,  said, 

"  We  have  no  trouble  whatever,  except  we  make  it. 
Uncle,  Mr.  Saville  is  a  true,  honorable  man,  and  he  has 


EXPLANATIONS  427 

never  asked  me  to  do  a  thing  that  he  thought  wrong. 
Both  father  and  myself  would  have  been  dead  years  ago 
were  it  not  for  his  unspeakable  kindness.  Father,  be 
calm.  You  cannot  strike  Theron  Saville  without  striking 
me.  He  is  my  brother,  my  more  than  brother,  and  I 
love  him  better  than  life." 

"  But,  Vera,"  remonstrated  her  uncle,  with  a  gravity 
almost  approaching  to  sternness  ;  "  in  your  secluded  life 
you  have  not  learned  how  rigid  the  proprieties  of  life  are 
in  these  matters.  You  bear  the  proud  name  of  Wel- 
lingly,  and " 

"Uncle,"  interrupted  Vera,  with  a  dignity  and  firm- 
ness of  which  her  gentle  mother  had  never  been  capable, 
"  I  bear  a  prouder  name  than  that  of  Wellingly. 
I  am  a  Christain,  and,  in  the  light  of  God's  truth,  and 
not  the  fashion  of  this  world,  I  have  thought  tliis  matter 
out  to  its  right  issue,  and  I  shall  stand  by  my  decision. 
Rather  than  permit  any  one  to  come  between  me  and  Mr. 
Saville,  I  will  go  back  to  the  poverty  and  obscurity  of 
our  mountain  cabin  for  the  rest  of  life.  I  do  not  speak 
these  words  as  a  wilful,  ignorant  child,  but  as  a  woman 
who  has  been  matured  and  sobered  by  years  of  bitter 
sorrow.  Mr.  Saville  is  my  dearest  friend — nothing  more  ; 
and  he  never  can  be  anything  more.  I  have  known  for 
years  that  he  is  married.  He  told  me  himself,  and  he 
never  cherished  one  dishonorable  thought  towards  me. 
I  declare  to  you  both  that  there  is  nothing  in  our  relation- 
ship to  which  my  sainted  mother  would  object.  But  I 
would  rather  perish  by  slow  torture  than  stand  aloof  from 
or  treat  him  coldly." 

"This  is  very  extraordinary,"  said  her  uncle. 

"  I  cannot  reconcile  his  conduct  with  your  words," 
added  her  father,  in  deep  agitation. 

The  strain  of  the  eventful  day  had  at  last  become  too 
great  for  Vera,  and  she  felt  herself  growing  faint. 

"  Be  patient,"  she  said  wearily  ;  "  you  shall  know  all. 


428  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

As  uncle  said,  we  shall  have  no  mysteries.  But  I  can  say 
no  more  to-night.  In  pity,  uncle,  remember  what  I  have 
passed  through  to-day." 

"Forgive  me,  my  child,"  he  said  remorsefully,  and 
bringing  her  a  glass  of  wine.  "  I  will  trust  you,  Vera," 
he  added  ;  "for  your  words  and  manner  are  those  ot 
truth  and  purity.  My  only  fear  is  lest  you  should  be  mis- 
led through  your  innocence  and  ignorance  of  the  world." 

Sh«  looked  him  steadily  in  the  face  a  moment  as  only 
the  innocent  could  do,  and  then  replied, 

"  Uncle,  my  honor  and  good  name  are  as  safe  in  Mr. 
Saville's  hands  as  in  yours  or  father's.  He  is  a  Christian 
gentleman,  in  the  truest  and  strongest  sense  of  the  word." 

"  There,  my  dear,  I  am  satisfied,  and  your  father  must 
be,  too,  until  he  can  have  fuller  explanation.  Calm  your- 
self now,  and  let  me  show  you  to  the  best  resting-place 
which  a  soldier  can  provide  for  a  guest  who  is  as  loved 
and  welcome  as  she  was  unexpected;  "  and,  without 
listening  to  her  remonstrances,  he  gave  her  his  own 
room,  and  kissed  her  tenderly  as  he  said  good-night. 

Vera  was  too  exhausted  to  think  ;  but  she  was  dimly 
conscious  that,  after  all,  it  would  be  difficult  to  make  her 
father  and  uncle  understand  the  honest  skepticism  from 
which  Saville's  course  was  the  natural  outgrowth.  What 
was  so  clear  to  her  mind  might  seem  dubious,  or  worse, 
to  theirs.  She  was  not  so  weary,  however,  but  that  she 
thanked  God,  with  a  boundless  gratitude,  that  he  had  led 
her  safely  through  that  season  of  doubt  and  strong  temp- 
tation. If  she  had  yielded,  she  saw  plainly  that  her  proud 
and  stately  uncle  would  have  cast  her  away  in  bitter  con- 
tempt ;  or,  what  was  far  worse,  her  father  might  have 
killed  her  lover. 

Early  the  next  morning  Saville  sought  an  interview 
with  Colonel  Wellingly,  and,  to  secure  privacy,  took  him 
to  Jasper's  quarters,  which  he  was  occupying,  in  the  sur- 
geon's absence. 


EXPLANATIONS  429 

Vera's  words  and  manner  had  convinced  her  uncle  that 
she  had  not  consciously  erred  from  the  path  of  rectitude, 
but  he  was  not  so  sure  of  Saville  ;  and  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  he  was  not  a  little  anxious,  for  he  saw  that 
Vera  was  a  girl  of  unusual  force  and  decision,  and  he 
feared  that  if  Saville  chose  to  take  advantage  of  the 
stronghold  he  had  upon  her  affections,  he  could  make 
them  trouble  indeed.  Although  he  had  been  very 
favorably  impressed  with  Seville,  his  knowledge  of  the 
world  made  him  slow  and  cautious  in  trusting  men  who 
are  under  strong  temptation.  And  yet  he  was  pleased 
with  the  fact  that  the  young  man  had  come  to  him  so 
promptly,  feeling  that  it  might  give  him  a  chance  to  pre- 
vent difficulties. 

" Colonel  Wellingly,"  said  Saville,  afterthey  were  alone, 
"  I  have  sought  the  first  opportunity  possible  that  I  might 
make  explanations  which  are  your  due,  and  which  it 
might  cause  your  niece  pain  and  embarrassment  to  give. 
I  have  no  fears  that  my  good  naine  would  suffer  through 
any  words  of  hers ;  on  the  contrary,  she  would  excuse 
conduct  for  which  I  have  only  bitter  condemnation.  I 
owe  to  her  my  life,  and  much  more  than  life,  and  it  is  a 
privilege  to  save  her  from  the  least  pain  and  annoyance. 
Are  you  willing  to  listen  to  an  honest  statement  of  all  that 
has  occurred  between  us?  " 

"Colonel  Saville,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  am  gratified  that 
YOU  have  thus  early  sought  this  interview,  for  it  tends  to 
assure  me  that  my  niece's  confidence  in  you  as  a  Chris- 
tian gentleman  is  not  misplaced.  I  admit  that,  from  her 
father's  words  and  manner,  last  evening,  after  he  learned 
that  you  were  a  married  man,  I  feared  that  I  might  have  a 
quarrel  with  you.  The  Wellingly  blood  has  ever  been 
over  hot  upon  certain  kinds  of  provocation,  and  on  no 
point  more  sensitive  than  that  of  our  women's  honor." 

"  You  may  still  think  that  you  have  cause  to  quarrel 
with  me  ;  but,  be  that  as  it  may,  I  shall  not  gloss  the  truth. 


430  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

You  cannot  condemn  me  more  bitterly  than  I  do  myself. 
Nor  shall  I  shrink  from  any  punishment  or  course  which 
you  may  impose."  And  he  gave  a  faithful  history  of  his 
acquaintance  with  Vera  from  the  first.  While,  in  justice 
to  himself,  he  showed  how  his  wrong  conduct  was  the  nat- 
ural fruit  of  his  erratic  views,  he  did  not  in  the  least  ex- 
tenuate it  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  of  it  with  a  cen- 
sure so  strong  as  to  be  almost  fierce.  It  was  evidently 
the  one  thing  for  which  he  could  never  forgive  himself. 
Indeed,  in  his  boundless  admiration  for  Vera,  he  forgot 
himself,  and  became  her  advocate  rather  than  his  own. 
He  argued  that  she  had  been  tempted  as  no  woman  ever 
was  before — tempted  by  one  to  whom  she  was  profoundly 
grateful,  not  only  for  much  kindness,  but  for  the  fact  that 
he  had  stood  by  her  after  her  father's  statement  that  he 
was  a  criminal.  She  had  been  tempted  by  one  upon 
whom  she  was  almost  utterly  dependent  for  existence  and 
the  necessities  of  life.  And,  what  made  resistance  tenfold 
more  difficult,  he  had  not  sought  to  beguile  her  as  a  vil- 
lain might  have  done,  but  he  had  been  open  and  honest 
in  his  error,  full  of  plausible  arguments  ;  and  he  had,  for 
long  months,  and  with  all  the  skill  he  possessed,  sought 
to  undermine  what  he  regarded  as  her  baseless  faith. 

"  Moreover,"  Saville  concluded,  "  there  was  much  in 
my  own  unhappy  relations  and  in  the  conduct  of  my  wife 
which  excited  her  womanly  sympathies  in  my  behalf  ;  but, 
in  the  face  of  all,  she  was  loyal  to  truth  and  duty.  I  have 
now  been  through  a  long  war ;  but  I  have  seen  no  hero- 
ism, no  fidelity,  and  all-enduring  fortitude  equal  to  that 
which  she  has  displayed  through  long,  weary  years,  and  I 
love  and  honor  her  next  to  God  in  whom  she  led  me  to 
trust.  I  am  through,  sir,  and  I  have  told  you  the 
truth." 

As  Saville  had  warmed  with  his  narrative,  and  spoke 
with  graphic  earnestness  and  power,  Colonel  Wellingly 
walked  the  floor  in  deep  excitement,  with  strong  and 


EXPLANA  TIONS  431 

varying  emotions  contending  on  his  face.  When  Saville 
concluded,  he  said, 

"This  is  a  most  extraordinary  statement,  and  yet  I 
cannot  doubt  its  truth.  I  have  been  inclined  by  turns  to 
embrace  you  in  the  profoundest  gratitude,  and  to  shoot 
you  on  the  spot.  Poor  child,  poor  child !  What  a 
strange,  sad  lot  she  and  her  mother  have  had  !  Heaven 
grant  that  I  may  shield  Vera  from  any  more  of  such  dark 
and  terrible  experiences." 

"  I  shall  ever  echo  that  prayer,  sir,"  Saville  added  ear- 
nestly. 

"  Colonel  Saville,"  continued  Colonel  Wellingly,  after 
a  few  moments  of  deep  thought,  "  I  cannot  doubt,  after 
hearing  all  that  you  have  said,  that  Vera  is  correct  in  be- 
lieving you  are  now  a  Christian  gentleman  ;  but  you  were 
once  a  very  dangerous  man,  sincere  as  you  evidently 
were  in  your  errors.  As  a  matter  of  curiosity,  I  have  read 
some  of  the  writings  of  your  old  masters,  and,  though  very 
friendly  to  the  French  people,  I  predict  for  them  terrible 
evils,  as  the  result  of  this  destructive  and  disorganizing 
philosophy." 

"  I  can  believe  you,  sir.  Were  it  not  for  a  firm,  gentle 
hand,  that  stayed  and  rescued  me,  it  would  have  brought 
evils  into  two  lives  that  would  have  been  irreparable." 

"Your  own  strong  self-condemnation,"  said  Colonel 
Wellingly,  "  has  disarmed  me  of  censure.  Your  feelings 
and  motives  are  now  evidently  honorable,  and  it  would 
be  wretched  folly  to  drag  forward  the  evils  of  the  past  to 
mar  the  present.  But,  Colonel  Saville,  you  know  the 
way  of  the  world,  and  how  ready  it  is  to  suspect  of  evil. 
Even  now  I  fear  that  rumor  may  couple  your  name  with 
that  of  my  niece  in  a  sense  that  neither  of  us  can  wish." 

"  I  recognize  and  respect  your  wish.  I  will  not  even 
see  Miss  Wellingly  again,  if  you  think  such  a  course 
'wise." 

"No,"  Colonel  Wellingly  replied,  after  a  little  thought. 


432  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  I  do  not  think  such  a  course  would  be  wise,"  for  he  re- 
membered Vera's  decisive  words.  "  I  think  it  would  be 
better  for  you  see  to  her  occasionally.  But  a  gentleman  of 
your  tact  could  easily  give  the  impression  that  your  rela- 
tion to  my  niece  was  only  that  of  frank,  cordial  friendship. 
At  the  same  time,  it  might  be  well  to  apply  for  duty  else- 
where." 

"  I  look  upon  you,"  Saville  answered,  "  as  Miss  Wel- 
lingly's  guardian,  and  shall  be  guided  strictly  by  your 
judgment.  Believe  me,  sir,  I  should  regard  it  as  the 
greatest  misfortune  that  I  could  suffer,  if  any  act  of  mine 
should  cast  a  shadow  on  her  fair  name.  You  are  at 
liberty  to  state  to  her  father  all  that  I  have  told  you  ;  and 
I  sincerely  -hope  that  his  mind  will  now  rapidly  recover  a 
serene  and  healthful  tone." 

"  I  will  satisfy  him,"  was  the  reply,  "  as  you  have  sat- 
isfied me.  Please  do  us  the  favor  of  dining  with  us  at  six 
this  evening." 

When  Vera  awoke,  late  in  the  day,  her  thoughts  again 
reverted  to  the  explanation  which  she  supposed  she  must 
make,  and  she  dreaded  the  ordeal  unspeakably.  But 
when  she  emerged  from  her  room,  her  uncle  took  her  in 
his  arms,  and  said, 

"  Vera,  Mr.  Saville  has  told  me  all,  and  I  am  proud  of 
you,  as  the  best  and  noblest  little  girl  that  ever 
breathed." 

"That's  like  Mr.  Saville,"  said  Vera,  coloring  deeply. 
"  He  has  been  making  me  out  an  angel,  and  himself  al- 
most a  villain." 

"  Well,"  said  Colonel  Wellingly,  laughing,  "the more 
he  called  himself  a  villain,  the  more  sure  I  became  that 
he  was  an  honorable  man.  At  any  rate,  I  have  invited 
the  villain  to  dine  with  us  this  evening." 

She  rewarded  him  so  promptly  and  heartily  that  the 
wary  colonel  was  filled  with  alarm. 

"She  is  too  demonstrative,"  he  thought,  "and  will 


EXPLANATIONS  433 

show  all  the  world  that  Saville  has  her  heart ;  "  so  he 
began,  very  gravely,  "  Vera,  my  dear,  when  in  Mr. 
Saville's  presence,  I  hope  you  will " 

She  put  her  hand  over  his  lips,  and  said  smilingly, 
"  Don't  fear,  uncle  ;  a  sensitive  woman's  nature  is  a  bet- 
ter guide  in  these  matters  than  the  soundest  advice." 

During  the  hour  of  dinner  Colonel  Wellingly  was 
abundantly  satisfied  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear,  for  the 
most  evil-disposed  of  gossips  would  not  have  seen  any- 
thing in  Saville's  or  Vera's  manner  towards  each  other  to 
which  exception  could  have  been  taken.  But,  as  he 
gave  her  his  hand,  in  taking  leave,  she  touched  her 
mother's  ring  upon  his  finger  so  significantly  that  he 
went  away  with  his  heart  warmed  and  comforted  by  the 
thought,  "  She  will  be  unchangeable  amid  all  changes." 

Immediately  after  Captain  Molly  left  the  arbor,  the 
evening  before,  Saville  joined  her,  and  said,  in  a  low 
tone, 

"  Molly,  my  brave  girl,  will  you  do  for  me  one  more 
good  deed  to-night?  " 

"  Faix,  an'  I  will  ;  a  dozen  on  'em,  if  I've  toime." 

"  Promise  me,  by  all  that  took  place  in  Fort  Clinton, 
that  you  will  never  mention  my  acquaintance  with  Miss 
Vera  to  any  one.  It's  not  the  world's  business,  and  the 
world  suspects  evil  where  there  is  no  evil." 

"  Misther  Saville,"  was  her  reply,  "may  that  big 
Hessian  that  ye  killed  cotch  me  agin  if  I  iver  say  a 
word." 

Tascar  had  often  been  warned,  but  the  boy  was  per- 
fectly safe,  for  he  had  a  habit  of  dense  ignorance  on  any 
subject  concerning  which  he  did  not  choose  to  speak. 

Only  enough  of  Vera's  romantic  story  got  abroad  to 
lend  an  increased  charm  and  interest  to  her  beautiful 
person.  If  at  first  there  had  been  some  disposition  to 
ask  what  had  been  her  relations  with  Saville,  their  frank, 
unaffected  manners  in  society  banished  the  thought  of 


434  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

evil  from  all  save  those  who,  being  wholly  bad  them- 
selves, have  no  faith  in  anything  good. 

In  spite  of  herself,  Vera  speedily  became  a  belle,  and, 
instead  of  being  a  hunted,  frightened  animal  of  the 
mountains,  as  she  once  described  herself  to  Saville,  she 
was  now  established  in  the  highest  social  position,  and 
soon  became  a  special  favorite  with  General  and  Lady 
Washington.  In  addition  to  her  beauty,  she  possessed 
unusual  solid  attractions,  as  heiress  of  her  uncle's  large 
wealth,  and  suitors  began  to  gather  from  far  and  near, 
as,  in  her  favorite  comedy,  they  had  beset  the  door  of 
Portia,  in  Belmont  ;  and,  like  Portia,  she  often  sighed, 
"  By  my  troth,  Nerissa,  my  little  body  is  a-weary  of  this 
great  world."  But  the  casket  which  contained  Vera's 
image  was  Saville's  heart,  and  that  was  closed  to  all  the 
world.  She  instructed  her  father  and  uncle  to  give  a 
courteous  but  firm  refusal  to  all  who  asked  of  them 
permission  to  pay  their  addresses,  and  those  who  sought 
to  lay  siege  without  such  formality  were  speedily  taught 
that  any  attentions  that  were  not  merely  friendly  were 
most  unwelcome. 

Colonel  Wellingly  had  been  much  pleased  with  the 
situation  of  the  mountain  cabin,  and  at  once  commenced 
enlarging  it  as  a  hunting-lodge.  He  saw  that  his 
brother,  from  long  habit,  would  be  much  happier  there 
than  anywhere  else,  and  it  was  a  place  in  which  he  felt 
that  he  could  while  away  many  months  of  the  year  when 
his  duties  would  permit.  The  incubus,  in  a  very  great 
measure,  lifted  from  Guy  Wellingly's  mind,  and  he  was 
no  longer  subject  to  his  old  fits  of  gloom,  which  bordered 
on  horror  and  despair  ;  but  it  was  evident  that  he  would 
always  be  a  grave,  silent  man,  finding  the  shadows  of 
the  forest  more  congenial  than  the  haunts  of  men. 


CHAPTER  XL 

HUSBAND  AND   WIFE 

SAVILLE,  at  Colonel  Wellingly's  request,  did  not  apply 
to  be  sent  from  West  Point  ;  but,  before  many  weeks 
elapsed,  he  was  summoned  away  for  the  most  unexpected 
and  painful  reasons.  Papers  came  through  the  lines, 
from  New  York,  containing  the  following  statement  : 

"A  DOUBLE  CRIME  IN  HIGH  LIFE. — Mrs.  Julia 
Saville,  the  wife  of  Colonel  Saville,  of  the  American 
Army,  has  eloped  with  Captain  Vennam,  the  officer 
whom  she  married  with  such  indecent  haste,  on  receiv- 
ing from  him  the  report  of  her  husband's  death.  Cap- 
tain Vennam  had  obtained  leave  of  absence,  on  the  pre- 
text of  visiting  some  friends  in  Nova  Scotia,  whither  the 
guilty  pair  have  sailed.  This  was  bad  enough.  But, 
on  the  night  before  their  departure,  an  event  occurred 
which  seems  to  give  proof  of  a  malice  and  vindictive 
hate,  of  which  it  is  difficult  to  believe  a  woman  capable, 
save  on  the  theory  that  when  she  does  fall,  she  surpasses 
man  in  wickedness.  In  the  middle  of  the  night,  flames 
broke  out  in  Colonel  Saville's  mansion,  which  has  been 
occupied  by  his  mother  during  the  war.  Mrs.  Saville 
barely  escaped  with  her  life,  and  found  refuge  in  a  small 
cottage  on  the  estate,  and  she  is  now  quite  ill  from  fright 
and  exposure.  But  the  worst  part  of  the  story  is,  that  a 
short  time  before  the  fire  manifested  itself,  she  was  sure 
that  she  heard  the  voice  of  her  son's  recreant  wife  be- 
neath her  windows,  and  also  the  unrecognized  voice  of 
some  man.  She  also  asserts  that  the  house  did  not  take 
fire  from  within,  but  from  the  front  piazza,  and  that  it 


436  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

swept  up  the  main  stairway.  She  and  the  servants  es- 
caped by  a  rear  staircase  and  entrance.  The  night  was 
dark  and  windy,  and  favorable  for  the  fiendish  deed. 
Everything  was  lost.  The  authorities  should  thoroughly 
investigate,"  etc. 

Colonel  Wellingly,  as  he  read  it,  unconsciously  ex- 
claimed, "  Shameful !  Poor  Saville  !  " 

In  a  moment  Vera  was  at  his  side,  and,  before  he 
could  prevent  it,  also  read  the  paragraph. 

"  Uncle,  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Saville." 

"  But,  Vera,  my  dear,  it  may  not  be  prudent  to " 

"O  uncle!  if  Mr.  Saville  has  friends,  should  they 
not  show  themselves  such  now  ?  " 

"I  will  go  to  him  with  all  my  heart.  There  are 
many  things  which  a  man  can  do  which  are  not  proper 
for  a  young  lady.  The  very  thought  of  that  vile 
creature,  his  wife,  is  soiling  to  you." 

"  I  do  not  think  of  her,  but  of  him  in  his  cruel  chains," 
she  replied,  weeping  bitterly.  "Never  was  there  a 
more  hideous  bondage  than  his." 

But  her  uncle  was  relieved  of  all  perplexity,  for  his 
servant  brought  him  a  note  from  Saville  to  Vera,  con- 
taining a  copy  of  the  paper,  but  in  his  care. 

"  I  am  so  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  sorrow," 
Saville  had  written,  "that  I  cannot  trust  myself  to  see 
you.  Were  it  not  for  the  faith  which  you  taught  me,  I 
could  not  have  survived  this  last  blow  and  disgrace.  By 
the  time  this  reaches  you,  I  shall  be  on  my  way  to  New 
York,  and  shall  make  every  effort  to  induce  the  British 
authorities  to  permit  me  to  visit  my  mother,  and  provide 
for  her  comfort.  I  have  not  seen  her  now  for  years,  and, 
if  necessary,  I  will  throw  up  my  commission  and  become 
a  citizen  in  order  to  reach  her  side  at  once." 

The  English  commander,  after  a  little  delay  for  ex- 
planations, courteously  acceded  to  Saville's  request,  on 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE  437 

condition  that  he  would  not  do  anything  during  his  resi- 
dence prejudicial  to  his  majesty's  service.  Peace  was 
now  almost  assured,  and  there  was  a  disposition  to  relax 
the  rigid  military  rule  of  the  city. 

The  son  found  that  he  had  not  reached  his  mother  a 
day  too  soon,  for  she  was  sinking  under  the  effects  of  her 
fright,  loss,  and  loneliness.  His  presence  revived  her, 
however  ;  but  she  rallied  slowly,  and  was  a  feeble  in- 
valid for  the  remainder  of  the  summer  and  autumn.  He 
hoped  to  move  her  to  West  Point  ;  but  she  was  not 
equal  to  the  journey,  and  most  reluctant  to  leave  the 
spot  where  she  had  spent  so  many  years.  He  made  the 
gardener's  cottage,  which  she  occupied,  as  comfortable 
as  he  could  with  his  limited  means  ;  for  his  property, 
lying  chiefly  in  the  city,  had  melted  away  during  the 
war,  and  the  money  he  had  deposited  in  Paris  was  now 
inaccessible.  He  denied  himself  everything  that  he 
might  make  his  mother  comfortable,  and  devoted  him- 
self to  her,  trying  to  make  amends  for  his  long  absence, 
and  she  slowly  regained  health  and  strength  under  his 
care. 

And  yet  those  long  months  of  watching  and  poverty 
taxed  Saville's  faith  and  fortitude  to  the  utmost.  The 
open  shame  of  his  wife  did  not  make  her  less  his  wife  in 
the  legal  sense.  Her  offense  gave  no  cause  for  divorce 
before  the  laws  as  then  existing.  In  his  intense  desire  to 
escape  his  chains,  he  had  the  legal  archives  searched  for 
some  precedent ;  but  found  that  for  over  a  hundred 
years  no  divorce  had  been  granted,  in  the  province  of 
New  York,  on  the  ground  of  his  wife's  crime. 

The  future  grew  darker  and  more  uncertain  than  ever. 
His  wife  had  disappeared  utterly  from  his  knowledge. 
There  was  a  rumor  that  Captain  Vennam  had  gone  to 
England.  But  Saville  knew  that  it  was  ever  the  custom 
of  satiated  lust  to  cast  away  its  victims,  and  Vennam, 
of  all  men,  was  the  one  to  coolly  abandon  a  woman  of 


438  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

whom  he  had  wearied.  Therefore  Saville's  wife  would 
probably  become  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
and  might  perish  in  some  miserable  place  and  way,  and 
still  he  remain  in  ignorance  of  the  event.  If  she  filled  a 
nameless  grave  in  a  foreign  land,  so  long  as  the  fact 
could  not  be  proved,  Saville  would  still  remain  bound, 
and  the  chances  were  now  that  he  would  wear  out  his 
life  in  this  slow  torture  of  uncertainty.  He  could  never 
approach  the  proud  Colonel  Wellingly  and  ask  for  his 
niece  while  such  a  doubt  hung  over  him,  even  if  his  own 
jealous  regard  for  Vera's  honor  would  permit. 

As  the  dreary  winds  of  November  began  to  blow,  he 
became  deeply  depressed.  Captain  Vennam's  regiment 
had  been  ordered  to  England,  and  there  was  not  the 
slightest  chance  for  his  return.  Saville  did  not  know  to 
what  part  of  Nova  Scotia  he  had  taken  his  wife.  He 
had  lost  all  clues.  In  frequent  and  painful  reveries  he 
saw  himself  growing  old  in  doubt  and  uncertainty,  ever 
chained  to  a  possible,  supposititious  woman,  who  might 
be  living  a  vile  life  of  crime  in  some  of  earth's  slums. 
He  saw  Vera's  bright  youth  and  beauty  fading  into  dim 
and  premature  age  under  the  blight  of  hope  deferred. 
Then,  after  life  had  nearly  passed,  and  the  chance  for 
happiness  was  gone,  he  pictured  to  himself  the  return  of 
his  wife  as  a  hideous,  shrunken  hag.  as  loathsome  in  ap- 
pearance as  in  character.  And  he  shuddered  at  the 
thought  that  he  could  neither  refute  nor  escape  her  claim 
— "  My  husband  !  " 

A  letter  from  Surgeon  Jasper,  that  came  in  with  a  flag 
of  truce,  greatly  increased  his  despondency,  for  it  con- 
tained the  incidental  statement  that  "the  young  officers 
were  half  wild  over  Miss  Wellingly,  and  that  she  might 
take  her  pick  from  the  army." 

One  dreary  day,  when  even  the  wild  storm  without 
was  a  cheerful  contrast  to  his  thoughts  and  feelings,  he 
came  to  the  deliberate  conclusion  that  Vera's  future 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE  439 

should  not  be  destroyed  with  his  own,  and,  knowing  that 
a  flag  of  truce  would  go  out  the  following  morning,  he 
sat  down  and  wrote,  telling  her  just  how  he  was  situated. 

He  told  her  that  he  was  a  cripple,  that  the  war  had 
consumed  his  property,  and  that  the  sum  deposited  in 
Paris,  even  if  he  should  be  able  to  get  it,  would  not  be 
more  than  sufficient  to  support  his  mother.  These  facts 
in  themselves  formed  a  good  reason  why  she  should  be 
released  from  the  promise  of  which  her  mother's  ring  was 
the  token.  He  then  stated  plainly  the  uncertainty  he 
would  always  probably  be  under  in  regard  t<?  the  fate  of 
his  wife,  and  he  earnestly  urged  Vera  not  to  lose  her 
chance  of  happiness.  "  I  will  wear  your  mother's  ring 
henceforth  as  your  friend  and  brother,  hoping  and  asking 
for  nothing  more." 

He  inclosed  this  letter  to  the  care  of  her  uncle,  and 
intimated  that  she  had  better  show  him  the  contents. 

He  went  out  in  the  storm,  and  made  it  certain  that  the 
letter  would  go  the  next  morning,  and  then  returned  to 
his  humble  home,  chilled,  cold,  and  wet.  But  he  had 
achieved  a  great  self-sacrifice,  and  he  felt  better.  He 
now  believed  that  Vera  would  form  new  ties  and  in- 
terests, and  eventually  become  happy  in  them.  For 
himself  he  must  look  beyond  the  shadows  of  time. 

He  did  his  best  to  make  his  mother  pass  a  cheerful 
evening,  and  succeeded.  She  did  not  dream  that  he 
had  given  up  the  dearest  hope  of  his  life,  and  that  his 
genial  manner  was  like  sunlight  playing  upon  a  grave. 
She  had  been  ill  and  weak,  and  he  had  not  burdened  her 
with  his  sorrow. 

They  were  just  about  retiring,  when  a  light,  uncertain 
step  was  heard  upon  the  little  porch.  There  was  a  low, 
hollow  cough,  and  then  came  a  hesitating  knock. 

Saville  took  a  candle  and  went  to  the  door,  and  the 
form  of  a  woman  stood  in  the  driving  sleet.  The  candle 
flared  in  the  wind,  and  nearly  went  out. 


440  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"Who  are  you,  madam,  and  what  do  you  wish?  "  he 
asked. 

"  I  am  your  wife,"  said  the  woman,  in  a  low,  desperate 
tone. 

He  knew  from  her  voice  that  she  was  ;  but,  in  his  sur- 
prise and  strong  feeling,  he  could  not  immediately  speak, 
and  she  continued, 

"  I  suppose  you  will  thrust  me  out  to  die  also,  as  I 
have  been  turned  from  the  door  of  my  own  home,  and 
by  my  own  father,  this  bitter  night.  I  deserve  nothing 
better  at  your  hands.  I  said  I  would  never  cross  your 
threshold  again,  but  I  must  or  perish,  and  I  dare  not  die. 

If  you  will  only  give  me  shelter  in  some  out "  but 

here  a  paroxysm  of  coughing  interrupted  her. 

"I  cannot  turn  you  away  in  such  a  night,"  said 
Saville,  in  an  agitated  tone.  "  Indeed,  I  pity  you  from 
the  depths  of  my  heart.  I  will  give  you  food  and 
shelter  here  for  to-night,  and  in  the  morning  will  try  to 
find  a  refuge  for  you." 

"  No,  Theron,"  said  his  mother,  who  had  drawn  near 
to  the  door  and  overheard  all;  "if  that  woman  comes 
in,  I  will  go  out." 

"O  mother!  you  women  have  no  mercy  on  each 
other." 

"  I  will  not  pass  the  night  under  the  same  roof  with 
that  creature,"  said  his  mother  sternly. 

"As  I  am  a  Christian  man,  she  shall  have  shelter 
somewhere,"  he  said  ;  and  throwing  a  large  cloak  over 
her  shoulders,  he  took  her  to  the  cottage  of  a  poor  man 
living  near,  who  was  under  great  obligations  to  Saville, 
and,  with  much  difficulty,  secured  a  room  for  her  there. 
He  then  took  her  food  and  wine  with  his  own  hands. 

"  Why  do  you  do  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Julia,"  he  said  kindly,  "if  I  had  been  a  Christian 
instead  of  an  unbeliever  when  we  were  married,  you 
might  never  have  come  to  this  wretched  state." 


HUSBAND  AND  WIFE  441 

"  Will  you  forgive  the  past,  and  take  me  back  as  your 
wife  again?"  she  asked,  her  old  trait  of  self-seeking 
promptly  showing  itself. 

«« I  will  and  do  forgive  you,"  he  said  gravely,  "  and  I 
will  do  all  for  your  comfort  that  I  can  in  my  poverty  ; 
but  you  can  never  be  my  wife  again  save  only  in  name." 

"Well,"  she  muttered,  "that's  more  than  I  could  ex- 
pect ;  and  it's  a  great  deal  better  than  dying  in  the 
street  like  a  dog." 

The  next  day  she  was  very  ill  and  feverish,  and 
Saville  summoned  a  physician.  After  a  brief  examina- 
tion, he  told  Saville  that  she  could  live  but  a  short  time 
under  any  circumstances,  since  she  was  in  the  last  stages 
of  hasty  consumption. 

Her  wretched  history  after  leaving  New  York  was 
soon  told.  Vennam  left  her  penniless  in  a  northern  city, 
and,  after  a  brief  life  of  crime,  she  became  ill  from  ex- 
posure in  the  rigorous  climate.  A  British  officer  who 
had  known  her  in  New  York  secured  her  a  steerage 
passage  thither.  She  arrived  in  the  storm,  but  did  not 
dare  to  go  to  her  father's  house  till  after  dark.  He  had 
sent  her  from  his  door  with  curses,  and  then  she  came  to 
the  one  whom  she  had  wronged  most. 

She  was  in  great  terror  when  the  physician  told  her  that 
she  could  not  live,  and  the  scenes  at  her  bedside  were 
harrowing  in  the  extreme.  Saville  patiently  and  gently 
tried  to  lead  her  to  the  Merciful  One  who  received  and 
forgave  outcasts  like  herself ;  but  her  mind  was  too 
clouded  by  terror  and  too  enfeebled  by  disease  to  under- 
stand anything  clearly  save  the  one  dreadful  truth  that 
she  must  die.  Her  delirious  words  were  even  worse  than 
her  partially  sane  cries  and  moans  ;  but  Saville,  with 
patient  endurance,  remained  at  her  bedside  almost  con- 
tinually, and  ministered  to  her  with  his  own  hand  to  the 
last.  All  that  medical  skill  and  faithful  care  could  ac- 
complish was  done  to  alleviate  her  suffering  and  add  to 


442  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

the  number  of  her  days.  With  earnest  words  and  prayer 
he  sought  to  instil  into  her  guilty  and  despairing  heart 
something  like  faith.  But  that  had  happened  to  her 
which  may  happen  to  any  who  persist  in  the  ways  of  evil : 
she  had  passed  so  far  down  into  the  dark  shadow  of 
moral  and  physical  death  that  no  light  could  reach  her. 
Her  end  was  so  inexpressibly  sad,  that,  although  by  it 
Saville  was  relieved  from  his  cruel  bondage,  he  yet  sat 
down  by  her  lifeless  body  and  wept  as  only  a  strong  man 
can  weep. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

WEDDED   WITH   HER   MOTHER'S    RING 

VERA  was  alone  with  her  uncle  when  she  received 
Saville's  letter.  She  read  it  with  a  blending  of  smiles 
and  tears,  and  then  passed  it  to  Colonel  Wellingly,  say- 
ing, 

"Mr.  Saville  wished  you  to  see  this,  and  I  am  very 
glad  to  have  you  do  so,  for  it  will  satisfy  you  more  fully 
than  ever  what  kind  of  a  man  he  is." 

Her  uncle  read  the  contents  with  great  interest,  and 
then  said,  "  This  letter  does  Mr.  Saville  much  credit, 
and,  I  must  say,  I  think  he  takes  a  correct  and  sensible 
view  of  things.  Your  promise  was  a  rash  one,  at  best, 
and  it  was  extorted  from  you  in  a  moment  of  dire  emer- 
gency. Moreover,  what  he  says  is  true,  and  it  is  prob- 
able he.will  never  hear  a  word  from  his  wife  again.  And 
yet  Vera  Wellingly  cannot  marry  a  man  whose  wife  may 
appear  any  day." 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  marry  him,  uncle." 

"  Now  that  is  sensible,  too.  You  must  be  quite  well 
convinced  by  this  time  that  you  can  take  your  pick,  and 
make  a  very  brilliant  match." 

"  Where  is  your  wife,  uncle  ?  "  said  Vera,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "  You  are  the  kind  of  man  who  can  always 
take  his  pick." 

He  was  silent,  for  she  had  touched  a  very  tender  chord 
in  him,  as  he  had  in  her  heart. 

"It  maybe  that  some  can  manage  these  things  in  a 
sensible,  thrifty  way,"  she  continued  ;  "  but  it  does  not 


444  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

seem  to  run  in  our  blood  to  do  so.  Forgive  me,  uncle,  for 
touching  a  sensitive  chord  :  but  I  wish  you  to  learn  to  in- 
terpret my  heart  by  your  own  ;  then  this  question  will  be 
finally  settled,  and  you  can  shield  me  from  many  unwel- 
come attentions." 

"  Well,"  said  her  uncle,  trying  to  give  a  lighter  turn  to 
the  conversation,  "somebody's  loss  is  mine  and  your 
father's  great  gain." 

"  Yes,"  said  Vera  ;  "  I  intend  to  make  myself  so  neces- 
sary to  you  both,  that  you  will  be  like  two  dragons  to- 
wards every  one  with  suspicious  designs.  I  am  satisfied 
that  it  is  money  that  most  of  them  are  seeking,  at  best  ; 
and  Theron  loved  me  and  was  kind  when  I  was  hungry 
and  in  rags.  Foolish  fellow  !  I  suppose  he  was  in  a  state 
of  high  tragedy  when  he  wrote  this  letter,  and  thought 
that  I  would  take  him  at  his  word.  He  will  never  make 
such  a  blunder  again  after  receiving  my  answer." 

But  one  day,  before  she  found  a  chance  of  sending  her 
reply  to  New  York,  her  uncle  entered  his  quarters  in  a 
state  of  great  excitement,  and  said,  producing  a  city 
paper, 

"  Vera,  it  is  due  to  you  that  you  should  see  this  at 
once."  And  he  pointed  out  the  following  paragraph  : 


"  RARE  MAGNANIMITY. — The  Saville  tragedy  has  at  length 
ended,  and  ended  strangely.  As  might  have  been  expected, 
Captain  Vennam  soon  abandoned  the  wretched  woman  who 
eloped  with  him,  and  she  returned  to  this  city  in  a  sick  and  dy- 
ing condition.  In  the  pitiless  storm  of  the  night  of  the  25th  ult., 
she  was  repulsed  from  her  parents'  door  and,  in  her  despair, 
sought  help  from  her  most  deeply  wronged  husband.  Strange 
to  say,  he  has  treated  her  with  wonderful  kindness.  He  could 
not  give  her  a  refuge  under  the  same  roof  with  his  mother  ;  but 
he  procured  for  her  a  comfortable  room,  and  was  untiring  in  his 
attentions,  doing  everything  in  his  power  to  alleviate  her  suffer- 


WEDDED  WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING        445 

mgs  during  the  few  days  she  survived.  We  have  these  facts 
from  the  citizen  at  whose  house  she  died,  and  can  vouch  for  their 
correctness." 

Vera  dropped  the  paper  and  fled  to  her  room,  and  sev- 
eral hours  elapsed  before  she  reappeared.  When  she  did, 
her  eyes  gave  evidence  that  many  tears  had  mingled  with 
her  joy.  In  curious  and  feminine  contradiction  to  her 
plainly  expressed  purpose,  she  did  not  write  to  Saville  by 
the  next  flag  of  truce.  "  He  is  now  at  liberty  to  write  to 
me  another  and  a  very  different  letter,"  'she  said  to  her- 
self; "  and  I  shall  wait  till  he  does." 

But  when  Saville's  letter  came,  as  it  did  in  time,  it 
breathed  only  a  quiet  and  friendly  spirit,  such  as  he  would 
naturally  write  on  the  supposition  that  she  had  accepted 
his  last  letter  as  the  basis  of  their  future  relations.  It  was 
not  in  Vera's  nature  to  write  and  inform  him  that  he  was 
all  at  fault,  and  that  she  was  like  a  rose  waiting  to  be 
plucked.  "  He  will  have  to  find  out  all  for  himself,"  she 
thought  ;  "  but  I  fear  he  will  be  ridiculously  blind,  and 
continue  his  high  tragedy  until  some  unforeseen  circum- 
stance opens  his  eyes." 

Early  in  the  spring  Mrs.  Saville  so  far  regained  her 
health  that  her  son  was  able  to  return  to  the  army,  a  step 
rendered  specially  necessary  by  his  pecuniary  circum- 
stances. He  called  promptly  on  Vera  after  his  return  to 
West  Point ;  but  it  so  happened  that  there  were  several 
strangers  calling  at  her  uncle's  quarters  at  the  time,  and 
his  manner  was  somewhat  formal  and  distant.  She  was 
provoked  at  herself  that  she  permitted  her  bearing  to  be 
tinged  by  his. 

After  the  guests  were  all  gone,  her  uncle  found  her  in 
tears,  and  said, 

"  Foolish  child  !  as  if  you  had  cause  to  worry.  You 
are  both  like  gunpowder,  and  only  need  a  spark  to  set 
you  off." 


446  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken,  uncle.  Theron  is 
worse  than  a  spiked  cannon." 

The  next  evening,  she  and  her  father  were  taking  a 
walk  by  the  river,  near  the  extreme  point  of  land  where 
Saville  had  first  discovered  her  nearly  eight  years  before, 
on  the  *]une  afternoon,  now  memorable  to  both.  Foot- 
steps caused  her  to  glance  up  the  bank,  and  then  she 
pulled  her  father  into  the  concealment  afforded  by  a  clump 
of  cedars.  In  a  few  moments,  Saville  came  out  on  the 
point  and  threw  himself  down  upon  the  grassy  plot  where 
he  had  seen  Vera  reclining  before  he  caused  her  hasty 
flight.  She  put  her  finger  to  her  lips,  and  made  a  sign 
to  her  father  not  to  move,  and  then  she  stole  up  towards 
him  as  he  had  before  approached  her,  and  reached  the 
same  low  cedar  over  which  he  had  peered  wonderingly 
and  admiringly  at  her  childish  face  and  form. 

"O  stupid  Theron!  can't  you  feel  that  I  am  here?" 
she  thought.  "  I  felt  your  presence  even  then  before  I 
saw  you.  I  am  so  near  that  I  can  almost  touch  you,  and 
yet  there  you  lie  at  lazy  length." 

He  commenced  singing,  in  a  low  tone, 

"  I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows." 

She  waited  no  longer,  but,  in  her  sweet  voice,  repeated 
the  old  refrain,  which  had  been  the  signal  for  so  many  of 
their  trysts.  He  sprang  up,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  her 
laughing  and  blushing  face  back  of  the  cedar,  came  in- 
stantly to  her  side. 

"  See  what  a  whirligig  time  is,"  she  said.  "  I  surprised 
you  on  this  occasion." 

"But  I  shall  not  run  away  as  you  did,  Vera." 

"Indeed!  Now  it  is  my  turn  to  be  surprised  again.  I 
had  fears  lest,  in  your  desire  to  escape,  you  might  plunge 
into  the  water." 

He  looked  at  her  very  earnestly,  and  her  eyes  drooped 


WEDDED  WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING        447 

under  his  gaze,  as  they  had,  years  before,  in  the  early 
dawn,  after  she  had  rescued  him  from  Fort  Clinton. 

"  Vera,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "  I  am  very  poor." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  the  subject?"  she  asked, 
with  a  sudden  mirthfulness  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  but  a  cripple,"  he  continued  sadly,  "  and  there 
is  a  dark  stain  upon  my  name." 

Her  laughing  eyes  became  full  of  tears. 

"  Circumstances  have  greatly  changed.  You  are  now 
Vera  Wellingly,  and  the  heiress  of  large  wealth." 

"  I  would  rather  be  the  ragged,  friendless  Vera  Brown 
you  found  at  my  mother's  grave,  than  have  you  talk  in 
this  way,  Theron." 

"  Would  to  heaven  you  were  !  "  he  said  with  passion- 
ate earnestness;  "for  then  I  would  kneel  at  your  feet 
and  beg  you  to  be  my  wife." 

She  dashed  her  tears  right  and  left,  and  taking  his 
hand,  asked, 

"  Theron,  what  right  have  you  to  this  ring  ?  You  have 
become  a  skeptic  again,  and  I  shall  have  to  teach  you  a 
new  and  stronger  faith." 

"  And  may  I  give  this  old,  bent  ring  which  you  are 
wearing  its  first  meaning?  "  he  said  eagerly. 

"It  never  had  any  other  meaning  to  me,"  she  said, 
with  a  low  laugh,  and  then  she  added,  with  an  exquisite 
touch  of  pathos,  "  We  could  not  help  loving  each  other, 
Theron,  after  all  that  had  happened  ;  we  could  only 
help  doing  wrong.  Do  not  grieve  that  you  have  lost 
an  arm,  for  you  shall  have  both  of  mine  in  its  place. 
That  which  you  call  a  stain  upon  your  name  has  come 
to  be,  in  my  eyes,  the  most  flashing  jewel  in  the 
crown  of  your  manhood.  When  that  poor  creature  fled 
to  your  door  from  her  father's  scorn  and  curses,  you,  who 
had  been  most  wronged,  acted  as  the  Divine  Man  would 
have  done.  If  you  could  be  so  kind  to  her,  how  sure  I 
am  of  patient  tenderness!  I  will  conclude  my  long 


448  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

homily  with  this  plain  exhortation :  Never  forget  that 
Vera  Wellingly  and  Vera  Brown  are  one  and  the  same 
person.  It  will  save  you  a  world  of  trouble." 

Then  she  called  her  father,  but  he  had  stolen  away 
and  left  the  lovers  to  themselves. 

The  long  and  terrible  war  was  over.  The  last  British 
soldier  had  embarked  from  the  city  of  New  York,  and 
Washington,  who  had  become  the  foremost  general  of  the 
age,  was  about  to  repair  to  the  seat  of  government,  that 
he  might  resign  his  commission  and  become  a  simple 
American  citizen.  But,  before  doing  so,  he  attended  a 
wedding  in  a  beautiful  uptown  villa  which  had  been 
hastily  prepared  for  the  occasion. 

It  was  a  magnificent  affair  for  those  primitive  and  war- 
depleted  times.  Sam  Fraunces  and  his  buxom  daughter 
Phoebe  presided  over  the  cuisine  and  entertainment,  and 
the  best  military  band  of  the  army  discoursed  gay  music. 
Many  of  the  leading  men  of  the  country,  State,  and  city, 
were  present,  and  among  them,  it  might  almost  be  said, 
was  Captain  Molly,  for  she  persisted  in  wearing  her 
cocked  hat  and  artilleryman's  coat.  Surgeon  Jasper 
found  himself  an  honorable  master  of  ceremonies,  and 
Tascar  was  charged  with  so  many  important  duties  that 
he  at  last  was  satisfied  that  he  utterly  eclipsed  his  old 
friend,  Pompey.  His  mother,  old  Gula,  in  her  lofty  red 
turban,  looked  as  if  she  might  have  been  in  very  truth 
an  African  dowager  queen. 

Mrs.  Saville  was  so  happy  that  she  quite  renewed  her 
youth,  and  would  have  been  perfectly  ready  to  admit  that 
heaven  had  made  a  better  match  than  she  had  thriftily 
compassed,  as  she  had  once  supposed.  Vera's  gentle 
and  affectionate  manner  had  won  her  heart  at  once, 
while  she,  at  the  same  time,  complacently  remembered 
the  ducats  of  the  bride. 

The  tall,  bent  form  of  the  father  was  conspicuous,  even 
though,  in  accordance  with  his  old  shrinking  habit,  he 


WEDDED  WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING        449 

ever  sought  the  background  in  the  brilliant  scene.  Peace 
sat  serenely  on  his  brow,  where  gloom  had  lowered  for  so 
many  years.  He  believed  that  the  curse  had  passed  away 
from  him  and  his,  and  he  was  daily  becoming  more  grate- 
ful for  recognized  blessings. 

But  Colonel  Wellingly  was  the  genius  of  the  occasion, 
and,  with  a  genial,  high-bred  courtesy,  he  moved  among 
the  guests,  bestowing  words  of  welcome  and  graceful  at- 
tentions, with  the  tact  of  one  whose  thorough  knowledge 
of  men  enabled  him  to  make  every  utterance  and  act 
timely  and  appropriate.  To  e.ach  one  he  gave  the  sense 
of  being  recognized  and  cared  for  ;  and  his  fine  breeding 
made  him  at  ease  in  addressing  Governor  Clinton,  or  the 
Commander-in-chief,  and  no  less  so  in  speaking  to  some 
subaltern,  or  Captain  Molly  herself. 

Soon  a  breezy  and  expectant  rustle  and  hum  of  voices 
announced  that  the  bride  and  groom  were  descending  the 
grand  stairway. 

As  Vera  entered,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  her  father, 
there  was  a  deep  murmur  of  admiration. 

Her  heart  was  filled  with  unspeakable  gratitude,  for 
God's  minister  was  before  her,  and  in  his  hand  God's 
Holy  Word.  And  when  Saville  spoke  the  words,  "  With 
this  ring  I  thee  wed,"  and  put  upon  her  finger  the  plain 
gold  band  with  which  her  father  had  espoused  her  mother, 
she  thought  she  felt  that  mother's  hands  resting  upon  her 
head  in  blessing.  Even  in  that  supreme  moment,  her 
mind  flashed  back  to  the  hour  of  her  strong  temptation, 
when  her  mother's  charge  that  she  should  be  wedded 
with  this  ring  came  to  her  help  like  aj}  angel's  hand. 
While  the  clergyman  was  offering  the  concluding 
prayer,  her  mind  wandered  a  little,  and  harbored  the 
thought, 

"  If  on  earth  God  can  thus  richly  reward  patient  obedi- 
ence, what  will  heaven  be  ?  " 

As  Washington  was  about  to  take  his  leave,  with  strong 


450  NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

expressions  of  his  regard  and  kindly  interest,  Saville  asked 
him  if  he  would  grant  them  a  brief  private  interview. 

With  some  surprise  he  consented,  and  was  conducted 
into  a  beautiful  little  room,  to  which  no  guests  had  been 
admitted.  On  a  stand  of  inlaid  wood  of  rare  value,  and 
resting  on  some  exquisitely  embroidered  velvet,  lay  a  lit- 
tle book. 

"  Does  your  Excellency  recognize  this?"  asked  Vera, 
pointing  to  it. 

As  Washington  took  it  up,  a  quick  ray  of  intelligence 
lighted  up  his  face,  and  he  said, 

"  It  is  my  old  Bible,  which  I  have  carried  through  many 
a  battle." 

"God  bless  your  Excellency  !  "  said  Vera,  taking  his 
hand  in  strong  emotion.  "  This  book,  which  is  your 
gift,  carried  me  through  the  one  sore  battle  of  my  life." 

"And  this  happy  wedding  to-night,"  added  Saville, 
in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling,  "  at  which  I  feel  the  Son  of  God 
is  present,  as  truly  as  he  was  at  Cana,  is  due  to  your  gift 
of  this  Bible,  and  the  Christian  counsel  which  accompanied 
it.  I  was  then  an  unbeliever,  and  was  tempting  this  dear 
wife  to  a  union  in  which  she  must  have  thrown  away  her 
mother's  wedding-ring.  But  this  Bible  saved  us  both, 
and  we  bless  you  for  it  with  a  gratitude  that  shall  never 
cease." 

Tears  gathered  quickly  in  Washington's  eyes,  and 
taking  Vera  in  his  arms,  he  kissed  her  tenderly,  saying, 

"  The  words  which  you  and  your  husband  have  spoken 
form  one  of  those  memories  which  grow  dearer  to  the  last 
hour  of  life." 

One  quiet  summer  evening,  Arthur  and  Guy  Wellingly 
issued  from  the  door  of  the  rustic  hunting-lodge  into 
which  the  mountain  cabin  had  been  developed,  and,  fol- 
lowing a  path,  they  came  to  a  lovely  and  secluded  spot, 
embowered  in  the  primeval  trees  of  the  forest.  From  a 
pedestal  arose  a  light  shaft  of  white  marble,  around 


WEDDED  WITH  HER  MOTHER'S  RING        451 

which  was  entwined  the  clinging  ivy.     It  bore  no  name. 
That  was  engraved  on  the  hearts  of  the  brothers. 

Was  she  a  weak  woman  who  had  thus  enchained  two 
such  men  ?  Is  not  that  faith  rational  which  affirms  that 
love  so  faithful  must  have  a  spiritual  and  eternal  fruition  ? 


THE  END 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


PKINTCDIN  USA 


PS2727  N4 

Roe,  Edward  Payson,  1838- 

1888. 
Near  to  nature-'s  heart. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  249  030    6 


3  1210  00214  2030 


